Somewhere I Have Never Traveled
by Hatusu
Summary: Draco and Hermione become foreign exchange students, and travel to France and Bulgaria. They expected boat rides, champagne and fancy balls, but what they didn't expect was murder. DMHG preHBP.
1. Archinad's Ambassadors

**Summary:** Deception. Illusion. Redemption. Draco, Hermione, and three other Ambassadors embark on a high-strung journey through three countries, and on the way they fall farther and farther into a web of passion, lies, and betrayal. This story includes black pearls, spies, champagne, boat rides, murder mysteries, ballroom dancing, and thunderstorms. DM/HG, Pre-HBP.

((**A.N.** Welcome to **Somewhere I Have Never Traveled**, my shiny new story. To the old readers, welcome back, I'm glad you could make it. To the newcomers, I'm excited to have you. To everyone, I hope you enjoy the story. Two things.

**1**. This story _is_ going to be DM/HG.There may be screaming, hitting, arguing, and dunking from both parties before this actually becomes apparent, but I do have a plan. I swear.

**2.** There will be quotes, poems, and song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter from numerous sources. I don't claim to own any of them. And this story is pre-HBP.

**3.** Okay I lied. Three things. I want to take the time to thank my beta, **Ali**, who has polished this fic into way more than I ever thought it could be. She is an outstanding editor.

That's it. Enjoy.))

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter, so don't sue me. Kay?_**

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_**somewhere i have never travelled**, gladly beyond _

_any experience, your eyes have their silence:_

_in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,_

_or which i **cannot touch **because they are **too near.**_

– _somewhere i have never travelled, by e. e. cummings_

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Chapter 1; Archinad's Ambassadors 

Evil.

The word rang through Draco Malfoy's head like a thousand reverberating gongs. His skull was pounding as he pulled back the sleeve of his left forearm.

Here was everything he had ever wished for being handed to him on a silver platter; fame, fortune, security and _power _beyond his wildest dreams.

Here was the life he had always wanted and he had always scorned, here was the life he had prayed for yet feared above all.

Ultimately, here was his destiny. Everything he was.

The skull burned into his flesh, and then…

* * *

"Look who's here," Hermione sniffed, turning to Harry and Ron. They followed her gaze across the train station to a group of students, or rather, a group of students surrounding Draco Malfoy. Suddenly he looked up and locked eyes with Harry, as if he had known they had been watching him. Harry bristled slightly, so slightly that his two best friends were the only ones to notice. 

Something was different about his silver streaked gaze, though. Perhaps Harry was only imagining it, but Malfoy radiated far more superiority and power than he ever had.

"Let's get on the train," Harry said, pulling his gaze away from Malfoy's. "That git seems more certain of himself this year."

They clambered into a compartment, and Hermione looked back once more at Malfoy. A pin gleamed on his chest.

"It's because he's been made Head Boy, no doubt," Hermione said acidly. "But we all know who got him _that _position." She was referring to Lucius, who held the school directors in the palm of his hand.

Harry had seemed surprised, though not disappointed, when he had found that he had not been made Head Boy. When he had discovered, however, that Malfoy had earned Head Boy in his place, he had been furious.

Hermione looked closely at Ron. His gaze was downcast, and he seemed preoccupied with something on the floor. He was quieter than she had ever seen him, and the strangest thing of all was that Harry did not seem to notice Ron's odd behaviour.

Hermione wondered if something had happened to him over the summer, and decided to ask him later in private.

Hermione's thoughts were swiftly interrupted by Ginny banging into the compartment, Neville closely in tow. Ginny had always seemed more mature than a sixth year in her speech and actions.

"Hermione!" she said excitedly, "Congratulations on your position as Head Girl."

"Thanks," Hermione said with a tight smile. "It would feel more like an accomplishment if it didn't mean I'd have to spend the rest of the _year _with Malfoy."

Ginny frowned before understanding. "Malfoy's been made Head Boy? That git!"

"Malfoy's a git alright," Ron said half-heartedly from the corner seat.

"He's such a big bully, I'll bet you his father browbeat the school into it," Neville said with far more conviction, taking a seat next to Ron.

"I just can't believe Dumbledore gave him the position," Harry said angrily. His expression lightened as he looked at Hermione. "But that shouldn't make us any less proud of Hermione for getting Head Girl."

"You know what Head Girl means, don't you, Hermione?" Ginny asked, as if eager to divulge information. Her brown eyes were flashing with an ill-concealed excitement. "Five students are going to–"

"Ginny," Ron said sharply, briefly looking up from his reverie. Ginny's eyes went wide and she covered her mouth quickly.

"You'll find out soon enough anyway," Ginny said after a moment. "It's just that dad's known about it all summer, as usual, and he sort of let it slip to us. We really can't tell anyone. You'll love it though, I'm sure."

_If it has anything to do with Head Boy and Head Girl, I highly doubt I will. _Hermione thought drearily.

Ron's eyes seemed to blaze as he looked out the window.

* * *

Dumbledore watched calmly as the seventh and sixth year students filed into the Great Hall. He smiled sadly as he looked at the Gryffindors. Harry would soon be approaching the final battle, and Hermione had her own test to endure. As for the youngest Weasely boy, Dumbledore had suspicions that were soon to be confirmed. Besides that, Ginny would begin her training soon, if all went as planned. 

His eyes wandered to the Slytherin table, where Draco took a seat, surrounded by the other Slytherin seventh years. How they adored him. He had no doubt taken the Dark Mark, and had gained power and assurance over the summer. He would endure the biggest trial of them all, and yet his ending would be the most tragic. Finally, Dumbledore's eyes flew to the seat at the Slytherin table that was empty, and the Headmaster nodded in confidence.

It was just that he was enjoying his last moments watching them now, as they were.

In a few seconds everything would change. Sighing wearily for what he knew was to come, he stood up and clapped his hands. The students fell silent immediately.

"Welcome, welcome, old hats and fresh faces alike. To the fresh faces, Iwelcome you grandly to our school. To the old hats, I have a special announcement before the feast begins. In light of recent events," Dumbledore started, looking across the audience sternly and hoping that they caught his drift, "the Archinad's Ambassadors program will be reinstated. This is a 360-year old program that was invented by the wizard Arambelee Archinad during the reign of the Dark Lord Morgan. Before I put you all to sleep with a history lesson, the gist of the thing is that five handpicked students from each school get chosen as Ambassadors. This group of fifteen students will travel to Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and Hogwarts together to observe each way of life."

By now the excited murmuring in the hall had grown. It was so great that Dumbledore had to pause and settle the students down.

"Not only will these students _unfortunately_ have to miss the first three weeks of term, but they will have first class accommodations at each school. Finally, there will be three balls, one at each school, held in their honour." Almost everyone looked excited now. The sky over the Great Hall had turned stormy, however, and thunder rumbled in the distance. Dumbledore smiled, though his voice took on a firm edge. "Not just any five students will secure a position in the program, however. Keep in mind that these five students represent the entirety of Hogwarts, so they will need to be diverse in house and background. We are also looking for 6th and 7th years only, since the journey will involve advanced study courses and some knowledge of the outside world. To sum it up, my friends, I seek five of Hogwarts brightest, strongest, and most sophisticated students. If you wish to participate in the program, Professors McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick, Snape, and I will be conducting interviews in my office. Write your name on the sheet in your common room and a time will appear next to it for the interview."

Dumbledore beamed across the golden hall and checked his wristwatch. "My, I've babbled for too long. You must all be starving. Without any further ado, let us eat!"

As always, heaping plates of food appeared at the centre of each table, and the students heartily dug in.

"I always _have _wanted to see Bulgaria. I never went when Victor invited me in forth year," Hermione said breathlessly. "I think I'll sign up for an interview."

"Don't you know, Hermione?" Ginny asked, as she poured herself a cup of pumpkin juice. "Head Boy and Head Girl are practically guaranteed a place."

"Really? How exciting, but I _would _worry about missing three weeks of term, and . . ." she trailed off as she saw Harry's expression.

"Does that mean _Malfoy's _going?" Harry sputtered incredulously. Mashed potatoes fell out of his mouth.

"Harry!" Ginny said indignantly. "Chew with your mouth closed!"

"Well, I . . . I suppose I never considered that," Hermione said, looking a bit dazed. Her brow creased. "That just ruins it!Does this mean you aren't going to go for an interview, Harry?"

His green eyes flared for a moment, and he unconsciously straightened his glasses. "Let's just say I would hate going, but I would hate for you to have to endure Malfoy alone even more." He grinned, then added, "Honestly, knowing you, we would get twenty owls a day, filled with complaints, and that would be downright annoying."

"Do you lot even realize how much we talk about Malfoy?" Ron cut in suddenly. "He doesn't talk about you this much, I know so."

Ron's smile seemed a bit lopsided as he said this.

"You're right," Harry said, setting his fork down. "We _have _been talking about him too much. That slimy git doesn't deserve our attention."

And after that they did not talk about him, though Ron still found it odd. The truth was Malfoy probably talked about them just as much as they talked about him.

They blew each other way out of proportion, Slytherins and Gryffindors. It was true that the Gryffindors were sometimes arrogant and a tad self-righteous, but they were not the big headed heroes the Slytherins made them out to be. And the Slytherins themselves were conniving, shrewd and very cynical, but not all of them were the junior Death Eaters the Gryffindors imagined they were.

Ron smiled as he thought about this. It was a lopsided smile. He knew that if the two sides came together they would create a power greater than anything previosuly imagined.

That was, of course, the point of keeping them apart.

((**A.N. **Next chapter... Draco recieves a rather interesting mission from Lord Voldemort before the trip begins, and things get way more complicated. Review and stay tuned!))


	2. Draco's Dilemma

((**A.N. **I've decided to update this story once a week, and I'm going to try for every Friday. This is a long story... it's going to be **40** chapters, **32** of which I have written. That does not mean, however, that all 32 chapters are ready to be posted. Far from it.

I don't want to subject all of you to endless ranting, so if you don't want to read my comments to reviewers, just skip down to get to the real chapter.

**Anuksunamun-Kalia: **You're very perceptive about Ron... yes, there is something "going on." Keep watching him closely.

**steffy potter: **Thanks. The first ten chapters of this story are already edited, so updating regularly shouldn't be a problem.

**dumblydoor: **Happy birthday:D I am flattered... welcome back!

**s.halliwell24: **Hm, Ron _is _acting a little odd, isn't he?

**CareBearErin: **Wow, welcome back:D I'm glad most of you have noticed Ron's odd behaviour...

**Hannah: **I hope you've finished that grapefruit.

**I luvwater: **I love Canada.

**IceHeart161: **Welcome back. The answer to your question is a very suspicious "maybe."

**M1s7ress: **I was really worried about people's initial reactions to the story, so you don't know how relieved I am that you liked the first chapter.

**Le Noirde Adhara: **I'm glad you think I've grown as a writer. :D

**Cocovanilla: **I wanted something really unique and catchy for the title. I'm glad you liked it, it's definitely more meaningful and artistic than my others.

**lil-ms-sneeky: **It's very hard for me to accept Ron/Hermione, but I think Rowling gives them really good chemistry in canon.

**Amerise Rei: **By Pre-HBP I meant that it takes place in the OotP world, meaning that although Harry is in his seventh year, none of the content in HBP is incorporated into the story.

**Avelynn Tame: **This story is going to be very long . . . there are so many subplots I'm hoping I can juggle them all. By far the most intricate plot I've ever attempted to write.

**ydole3343: **I'm glad you're interested and I'm glad you're back. :D

Enjoy the chapter!))

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**PART I: COME TO ME IN DREAMS**

_Come to me in the silence of the night;_

_Come in the **speaking silence **of a dream . . ._

_From "Echo,"_ _by Christina Rossetti_

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**Chapter 2**; Draco's Dilemma 

_A colossal dragon reared up out of the distance, and began flying toward Draco. As it neared him, Draco saw its color. Silver._

_It was not like any kind of dragon Draco had seen before. Its wings were complex, intricate, and made of laced steel. It was feral as it neared him, and Draco found that he had no weapon to combat it._

_The dragon sucked in a fiery breath and loosed a sparkling silver flame onto him. It burned his left arm, and he screamed . . ._

He screamed as he sat up in bed, clutching his left forearm. His skin was on fire, and as he looked down he saw that the skull had lit up to a volcanic red.

_A meeting, at this time of night? _Draco thought angrily. It was the first night of term and he had school. What could it be that couldn't wait until morning?

He pulled on trousers and a shirt, ran his fingers through his hair, grabbed a cloak, and went to his dresser. In a small jewelry box he looked at an opal pendant before touching it. The world spun around and around, and Draco felt a familiar jerk at his navel. He was engulfed in a myriad of colors and sounds, and at last he felt the whirlwind of movement cease. Draco blinked before looking around. He had portkeyed to his own Malfoy Manor.

Lucius was standing in front of him, and stepped forward.

"It is about time you arrived. I expect you to be punctual next time, Draco. Really, you _are _irresponsible. Lateness is never rewarded."

"I apologize, Father," Draco said immediately. "I will try to be more punctual in the future." _Sorry if I was sleeping at two in the morning. Sorry if I can't Apparate myself off of Hogwarts at your beck and call, Father._

"Lord Voldemort requires your presence in the in the Pavilion, Draco. Come quickly."

Draco followed his father down the stone halls, lined with flickering orange flames.

"I have been meaning to talk to you," Lucius said softly, as they strode along the passionless corridor. There were no decorations, and the walls were slate gray. "As I'm sure you are aware of, Draco, you near the proper age for marriage."

Draco sighed inwardly. In Pureblooded society, it was normal for the children to marry almost as soon as they got out of school. It secured their position in society, and was supposedly a high class tradition. Of course, all marriages in Pureblooded families were arranged. Draco suspected that many Wizarding parents in high class society merely used their children as leverage to boost their own status.

"Every Pureblooded family with a daughter in England will be vying for your favor, Draco," Lucius continued, "After all, you are heir to one of the biggest fortunes in the Wizarding world. It is sufficient to say that you may choose any bride you wish and she will happily marry you."

Lucius smirked.

"That is, _I _get to choose any bride you wish," he amended shortly.

"Who did you have in mind to be my . . . wife?" asked Draco.

Cor, it sounded odd to say _wife. _Seventeen year-old Draco Malfoy felt as if he were too young to say that accursed word. He didn't much like the idea of being pawned off to whoever had the most money and power in London. Draco had never been romantic, but he did not wish to be condemned to a life in which he had not even chosen his own wife.

"There are the Rossis, the Notts, the Averys, the Blacks, the Adamsons . . . the Parkinsons, of course . . . I haven't decided yet, Draco. I will inform you when I have made up my mind, and then we will set a wedding date."

"I suppose," Draco said reluctantly. They had reached the Pavillion, and opened the doors without another word.

Voldemort sat upon the dias, and Draco realized with a start that there were no other Death Eaters present. It was only Draco, Lucius, and Voldemort. They each bent one knee in front of the Dark Lord.

Waiting.

"Your son is quite charming, Lucius."

It really was not what any of them had expected, to put it lightly.

It was actually the _last thing _Draco had anticipated to come out of Voldemort's mouth.

" . . . Thank you, My Lord," Lucius said uncertainly.

Draco was slightly disturbed.

"That is what makes him perfect for the mission at hand," Voldemort continued easily. "I have decided that the key to luring Harry Potter out of safety is to pinpoint the people that he _cares_ about, not to pinpoint Harry Potter himself."

Draco saw a movement in the shadows. Had that been the swish of a cloak?

"This was demonstrated when he lost Sirius Black. However, that was only an illusion, and the boy has learned to block me out of his mind. We need someone real, someone tangible. His friends, however, prove to be incorruptible."

Voldemort stopped there and looked down at Draco. Draco was beginning to understand what Voldemort was implying, and it was making him sick.

"This is where you come in, Draco. I want you to befriend Harry Potter."

"Come again, My Lord?" Draco asked weakly. Surely he had not heard Lord Voldemort correctly. Perhaps there was a large quantity of earwax in both his ears, though he could not see how, since he had cleaned them out just that morning.

"I said that I want you to befriend Harry Potter."

There it was again!

"Befriend . . . Harry . . . _Potter_?" Draco choked out.

"There seems to be an echo in the room," Voldemort said coldly. "Yes, and I will give you a good reason why. You are his age, in his year, and at his school. You are the closest person that we have to Harry Potter. You will gain his friendship and his trust. That way, when we need to lure him away from safety, he will easily come with you. Then I will mutilate the brat like he has always deserved."

"If I may, sir," Lucius cut in quickly, "the toll this would take on our family's reputation would be–"

"What has possessed you, Lucius, to think that I _care?_" Voldemort said acidly.

"My Lord," Draco started desperately, "I don't think you understand. Harry Potter and I have a rivalry, of sorts . . . well, we have despised each other ever since we met. We are rival Seekers, I am a Slytherin, he is a Gryffindor . . ." Draco cut himself off when he realized that he was babbling desperately. "The point is, sir, that nothing on this Earth could convince him to become my friend."

There was silence, and Voldemort stared down at Draco. After a long while he spoke, his voice soft and icy.

"Well then, Mr. Malfoy, you will have to be convincing, because I don't think _you _understand. This is not a choice. This is not a walk in the park. Let me put it this way. If you do not complete this mission by November, the Malfoy line will _end._"

Lucius's mouth was moving but nothing was coming out. Draco realized there was more than one way to interpret that statement, neither of which he cared to dwell on.

_But why me! Why . . . me?_

"To sum it up, Draco, you must do anything and everything you need to in order to gain Harry Potter's trust. It is crucial to our next mission. As I said, you're a charming boy. You'll manage. And if you don't, well . . . my deepest apologies to your mother."

And he smiled a slow and appalling smile. Draco wanted to strangle Voldemort, and then strangle himself.

He would have been delighted to cheat Potter, to lie to Potter, to _kill _Potter, but to make friends? Hell would freeze over way before he and Harry made friends.

It was going to be a long year for Draco Malfoy.

((**A.N. **So who are the five Ambassadors from Hogwarts going to be? Take a guess... you'll find out next chapter. Review. ;D))


	3. Intellectually Invigorating Interviews

((**A.N.** Chapter 3, right on time.Classes started this week and I'vebeen ridiculously busy. Thank youto everyone who reviewed. I'm really enjoying all the feedback! None of you correctly guessed who the five Ambassadors were, but a couple of you were up to four...! Without further ado, read on.))

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**PART I: COME TO ME IN DREAMS**

_**Come** with soft rounded cheeks and **eyes as bright**_

_As **sunlight** on a stream . . ._

_From "Echo" by Christina Rossetti _

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**Chapter 3**; Intellectually InvigoratingInterviews 

_One week later . . . _

Hermione entered Dumbledore's office a tad apprehensively. She was surprised to see the five teachers that had conducted the interview. Snape, Sprout, McGonagall, and Flitwick were seated on each side of Dumbledore, and she thought that they looked like a panel of judges. And Hermione, being Hermione, was worried that she had not made the cut, though she was Head Girl and ranked number one in every subject but Potions.

"Sit down, please, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said quietly. McGonagall looked stern and Snape looked disgruntled, which Hermione took as a good sign. Then again, who was she kidding? Snape _always _looked disgruntled.

She took a seat across from Dumbledore.

"I am disappointed to say, Miss Granger . . ." Dumbledore started softly, and Hermione's heart leapt to her throat, " . . . that you will have to miss the first three weeks of term, because you've made the cut."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in a good-natured fashion as he gazed across the desk at her.

Hermione sighed in relief and smiled before speaking.

"May I ask, Professor, what the real point of this trip is? I mean, I know that you said we needed to experience other ways of life and form alliances with the other schools, but that isn't the whole truth, is it?"

Dumbledore laughed at that, and shook his head in disbelief. "You never miss a beat, do you, Miss Granger? You truly are the brightest witch here."

"The point," McGonagall said clearly, "and don't go telling people about this, Miss Granger, is that the Dark Lord grows more and more powerful by the day. There would be nothing he would like more than to see the three greatest schools in Europe lose contact with one another. It would be easy to turn the schools against each other, isn't that true? If the schools united against him, he would face a power far greater than he could deal with easily. Ever since that disaster at the Triwizard Tournament, the schools have been on uneasy terms. This, Miss Granger, is a subtle attempt to bring them back together. This is also why the five of you have a lot of responsibility, and why you cannot make a foolish error."

McGonagall stared her down sternly, but Hermione did not flinch.

"Excuse my being frank, _Miss _Granger," Snape started icily, "but you were chosen for one reason and for one reason only."

McGonagall's sniff told Hermione what she thought of the notion, but Dumbledore motioned for him to continue.

"Do not kid yourself. You are not sophisticated, you are not brave, you are not beautiful–"

"Severus," Dumbledore intoned severely, "that is quite enough."

"_Really_, now, Severus," muttered Sprout in an outraged manner.

"What I mean to say, Miss Granger," Snape plowed on, "is that you are intelligent. And unlike _some _of the candidates, you are not _completely _irresponsible. We are relying on you to keep the others in line. You are to impress the other Ambassadors with your knowledge, but by no means to act as an insufferable know-it-all. Have I made myself clear?"

"Perfectly," Hermione enunciated, staring coldly into his eyes. To her satisfaction, he looked away after a moment.

"We wish you the best of luck, Miss Granger," Flitwick said chirpily. "You will depart tomorrow morning."

"Thank you, Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Dumbledore . . ."

She looked pointedly at Snape before smiling at Dumbledore. "It's really an honor."

And she left.

* * *

"Come in, Mr. Potter," Dumbedore said kindly, "do have a seat." 

Harry took a seat.

Snape gave Harry a look that clearly said _I-wish-you-would-keel-over-and-die_.

"It came down to you and one other student in the end, and . . ."

Harry found that he was holding his breath.

" . . . we've chosen you," Dumbledore concluded. Harry let his breath out, and Snape coughed and snarled at the same time.

"You must understand that the three schools are not on the best of terms, Potter," McGonagall said sternly. "They may seem friendly at first, but you _must be careful._ You are the most aware and powerful – if not particularly law-abiding – student in the school. This is why we chose you."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry intoned. He was surprised they had chosen him, actually. "Is it safe for me to travel to other schools with . . . Voldemort gaining power?" Harry asked curiously.

"There are two reasons why we are allowing you to go," Sprout piped up. McGonagall continued for her, "The first is that the other two schools you will be traveling to have similar wards to Hogwarts. You-Know-Who would have a hard time breaking into any of them. The second reason is that this mission is critical to the well being of our country and our school. We would not trust anyone else with a task as important. You have shown great courage and determination in the past, Mr. Potter. Do not disappoint us now."

Dumbledore dismissed him. He was about to leave when he heard, absurd as it was, a voice in his head.

"_And Potter, you know that if you step one toe out of line, I will get you expelled."_

And Harry left.

* * *

Ginny entered next, and could not help noticing that Snape looked particularly agitated. _What's gotten into him?_

"Sir," Snape uttered in exasperation. "You said diversity, not five Gryff–"

"Look how _diverse _they are, Severus. A Muggle-born, a Half Blood, and a Pureblood. Already we have spanned the school in diversity," McGonagall said airily. She looked smug.

"Enough, Severus, Minerva," Dumbledore said.

Snape was absolutely fuming.

"As you may have guessed, Miss Weasley, you have been chosen as an Ambassador. We thought about it for a long time, and at last decided that Hogwarts would not be adequately represented without a member of the Weasley brood in the mix. Your marks are fairly good, and you will prove an excellent mediator between schools. I am sure of it."

_I am amazed they did not pick Ron over me,_ Ginny thought dazedly. _Whatever happened to the Golden Trio?_

In any case, she was delighted to be going. Snape looked ready to have an epileptic fit, however.

"I'm excited to be going, sir," she addressed Dumbledore.

Ginny smiled and thanked them before leaving, and before Snape blew his top.

* * *

Draco entered Dumbledore's office and took a seat without being asked. Snape looked livid, but when he saw Draco he calmed down. 

"Draco Malfoy, you have obviously . . . been chosen for this event. You are well known, mannerly when you wish to be, and though your marks are not the best, I somehow have no doubt that you will be able to complete advanced study courses. You are intelligent, Mr. Malfoy, perhaps as intelligent as Miss Granger."

"Thank you," Draco said, _for telling me something I didn't know, _he finished sarcastically in his head.

Dumbledore kept talking, but Draco was not listening. He had not even wanted to take this trip in the first place, but he was Head Boy and was almost required to go. Aside from that, _Potter _had interviewed, and by some twisted turn of events, Draco had to go wherever _Potter _flounced around to, in order to make _friends _with the bloke.

_Friends? _How was it even possible? They couldn't have a two minute conversation without ending up with wands at each other's throats.

Draco did not have even the slightest beginning of a notion of how he would make friends with Harry. Obviously he could not start being _nice _to the prat. That would be more suspicious than Lucius handing out teddy bears to needy orphans on Christmas Eve. He would have to do something subtle, yet something that would catch Potter's attention . . .

He was not a Slytherin for nothing.

Draco needed a Really Cunning Plan.

_It's a lose-lose situation, really_, he thought morbidly. If he did not succeed in gaining Potter's trust, he was as good as dead. If he did become Potter's friend, he was likely to kill himself.

_Couldn't they have gotten some girl to do this? _Draco thought heatedly. _I daresay Potter needs a little girlfriend. He would fall for a girl right away. Couldn't they have gotten Pansy to seduce him or something?_

He wrinkled his nose at the thought of Potter and Pansy snogging, and cringed at the thought of what their child would look like.

"Mr. Malfoy?" Dumbledore asked, sounding concerned. "You looked positively disgusted for a moment. Will going by train be a problem?"

"No, it . . . why are we taking a train?" Draco wondered out loud.

"It is too unstable to Port Key to stormy Durmstrang, so a train will be the fastest. And, Mr. Malfoy . . . I am aware of the grudge that Mr. Potter and yourself hold against one another. For this trip, it must be forgotten. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, sir," Draco said quickly.

And so his worst nightmare began.

((A.N. Poor Draco, stuck with three Gryffindors... but who is the final mysterious Ambassador? You'll find out next chapter when they set off for Durmstrang. It would be great if you reviewed:D))


	4. Darkness of Durmstrang

((**A.N.** Chapter 4 is here! I'm really excited about the amount of response this story is getting... thank you to all of my reviewers. I've decided I'm going to thank you all individually every five chapters, due totime constraints and whatnot... I'm so busy that I don't even have time to breathe. In this chapter I started writing a subplot with Lupin as the main character, and Lupin's story will pop up every couple of chapters from now on. Lupin is connected to the main story, even if it's not obvious yet.

Enjoy the chapter, then. :D))

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* * *

**

**PART I: COME TO ME IN DREAMS**

_Come back in **tears;**_

_O **memory**, **hope**, **love **of finished years._

_From "Echo" by Christina Rossetti

* * *

_

Chapter 4; Darkness of Durmstrang

The next morning dawned, ironically, bright and clear. Harry and Hermione had been bidden farewell by the rest of the seventh year Gryffindors, and despite herself, Hermione was excited to be going.

"You'll all be sitting in _one _compartment," Professor McGonagall said firmly, ushering them into a side compartment. "You are almost adults, and as adults I am speaking to you now. You two are responsible and level headed, but you _must _be careful. I do not doubt that there are plans afoul amongst the other schools. This is our chance to unite with the other schools, and you must do your best to create strong friendships." She said all of this very quickly and sternly. "And, good luck."

"This is going to be interesting, to say the least," Hermione told Harry after McGonagall had left. She looked casual and confident in khaki pants and a collared, button up blue blouse.

"It would almost be fun, if Malfoy weren't . . ." Harry started, but was startled as the door clicked.

"Speak of the devil," Hermione said loudly as Malfoy waltzed in. His face contorted into an ungainly sneer when he saw them.

"There must have been some mistake," he said in a calm voice. It was smooth and confident, as if he knew every word he said was true. "Granger, I can see why you're here . . . they needed to enter at least one Mudblood to make it look fair. But Potter? What redeeming qualities do they _possibly _imagine you to possess?"

"Maybe, Malfoy, you're just sore because Harry's defeated your _boss _six or seven times in a row now," Hermione said stonily, glaring up at him. She was implying that he was a Death Eater.

"I wouldn't go making assumptions like that, Granger," Malfoy said, his voice deadly calm. "You never know where you might end up."

"Did you just threaten her?" Harry asked incredulously. The tension in the small compartment seemed to mount.

Draco considered briefly. "That would be a 'yes'," he said lightly, after a moment. "Though I shouldn't waste threats on her . . . killing her outright would be far more fitting to her worthless bloodline."

Harry stood up suddenly, upsetting his trunk. It clattered to the ground.

"Insulting me is one thing, Malfoy. Insulting my friends is another."

"Okay," said Draco softly. "I'll keep that in mind next time I need to provoke you."

"Malfoy, you–" Harry reached into his pocket for his wand, but their attention was diverted to the compartment door as it opened. Ginny stepped in, looking flustered.

"Well," she said weakly, "It's been thirty seconds and you're already at each other's throats. I can tell this is going to be a lovely journey."

Harry, looking a bit ashamed, sat down and righted his trunk. Wordlessly, Ginny took a seat on the opposite side of the seat Draco was sitting in. Draco threw up his hands in disgust.

"A Weasley, now, too? What happened to equality between houses? What happened to _common sense?_ When a plebeian, a Mudblood, and a reckless prat are the top three students in the school, you know something's gone wrong."

Ginny seemed to have regained her composure.

"Not to mention a rat-faced coward with an ego the size of a Norwegian Ridgeback," Ginny said loftily.

Hermione thought that this description was dead on. Perhaps not the rat-faced part, but that was aside from the point. She needed them to stop arguing, because she knew that this would only lead to another brawl.

"Speaking of top students," Hermione cut in quickly. "Does anyone know who the fifth Ambassador is?"

Draco ignored her question, but Harry and Ginny shook their heads.

As if on cue, the compartment door slid open. Ernie Macmillan looked back at them.

"Hello, all," he said cheerily.

Draco apparently could not find the words. Finally, he did.

"A _Hufflepuff?_ This is a new low. It could have been a Ravenclaw, or a Slytherin, or, Merlin forbid, a Gryffindor . . . but Dumbledore has chosen someone from an absolutely _worthless_ house!"

"My house is highly superior to yours, Malfoy," Ernie said haughtily. "We did far better than you Slytherins on the O.W.L.s."

Draco rolled his eyes, draping his arms on the back of the seats. "Go on, then, Macmillan . . . name one famous witch or wizard from Hufflepuff."

Ernie opened his mouth.

"And don't say Cedric Diggory, he was only famous for dying, and that was all Potter's fault."

Ernie closed it.

"Point proven," Draco said after a moment.

"Listen, Malfoy," Harry said, "none of us has a problem with Ernie but you–"

"I have a problem with _all _of you, really," Draco added helpfully. Harry decided to ignore him.

"– no one has a problem with him but you, so lay off."

"Oh, _well said, _Potter. I'll 'lay off', as you put it, because I'm actually at a loss for words at the prospect that I'll be spending the next month or so with you lot."

"You're a right little ray of sunshine yourself, Malfoy," Hermione retorted.

But after that, they were silent.

* * *

FACT: _King Arthur was a legendary knight of the Dark Ages. He was rumored to have existed in Britain and to have died around 537 A.D. In Malory's retelling of his life, Arthur has a wife, Guenevere._

Remus Lupin stepped into Dumbledore's office, and was immediately bombarded with a thousand memories. He had been here many times, mostly for punishment, along with the other three Marauders. They were happy memories, memories of a younger, healthier time.

"Sit down, Remus," Dumbledore said, gesturing expansively.

Lupin took a seat, and wondered why Dumbledore had called on him. Dumbledore did not seem in the mood for idle conversation. After a few pleasantries, Dumbledore folded his hands and looked gravely at Lupin.

"You are aware, Remus, that Voldemort grows stronger with every passing day."

"I am aware," Lupin confirmed.

Dumbledore stared across the desk at Lupin. He felt as if he were being measured.

"There is something of grave importance I am going to reveal to you," Dumbledore continued, "but you must tell _no one._ Not your closest friend, not your most trusted ally."

_There will be no danger of that, _Lupin wanted to say bitterly. _My most trusted friends are dead. _

Instead, he nodded his head.

"An inside source has informed me that Voldemort has devised a way to regain his full power. It involves the use of an object so ancient and mythical that I had believed it long ago vanished into the ages. He has, however, found proof that it still exists."

"What object is this?" Lupin asked, his interest piqued.

"It is so long lost that I do not know even that much. It has been rumored to be a coin, a bottle, a cup . . . perhaps the Holy Grail itself."

Lupin raised an eyebrow. "And how does Voldemort plan on finding this . . . object?"

Dumbledore sighed. "That I do not know either, Remus. He has more information, I am sure. I _do _know that if he succeeds in finding this object, the war will be lost before it has even begun."

"Albus, this is madness." Lupin said, shifting uncomfortably. "The Dark Lord is searching for a mythical treasure that does not even have a name, a location, or a history? An object that very likely does not even exist? I say leave him to it, Albus. He will rot trying to find it."

"There _is _one thing," Dumbledore said, holding a finger up.

Lupin sighed noisily. "There's always _one thing_. What is it? And what in the name of Merlin does this all have to do with _me_?"

"Everything, I'm afraid," Dumbledore said, a hint of sadness in his voice. He sighed, and then leaned back. "I do not know why I try to avoid the unavoidable," he said, half to himself, "time and time again."

Dumbledore stood up and strolled over to a cabinet. Lupin frowned.

To Lupin's great surprise, he withdrew a Pensieve. It had snakes as a border, and the words "Mind's eye" engraved in Latin.

"I want you to enter this Pensieve," Dumbledore announced, "and watch carefully at what occurs. There is only one memory stored in here."

Dumbledore set the Pensieve in front of Lupin. "Go on, then."

So without another word, Lupin submerged his head below the shimmering surface.

* * *

The rest of the journey on the train went by slowly, though quietly. Harry and Hermione talked, their heads close together, for some time, but all Draco could hear was the deep rumble of his voice and the calm alto of hers. 

As Draco watched them through slitted eyes, he tried to puzzle out their relationship. They knew each other well, but often friends knew each other. It was more than that, though . . . it was almost uncanny. When the lunch trolley came, Hermione ordered for both of them without asking Harry what he wanted. When he got his food, however, he grinned at her and she smiled knowingly back.

They were a couple, they had to be. Yet he saw none of the telling signs that betrayed a young couple. They were never closer than they needed to be, and Harry looked at her with happiness and respect and mischief, but never love. He did care about her a great deal, Draco supposed, because when the train gave a massive jot he clamped a hand on her shoulder to steady her. She seemed to think nothing of it, however, and Harry acted as if it were completely natural.

They didn't like each other _that _way, he supposed, but if this was the case, then he didn't understand their relationship.

Ginny, also, seemed used to being left out. It wasn't that Harry and Hermione snubbed her or were rude to her. On the contrary, they talked to her openly and were friendly and polite. It was just that when those two were together it was as if they had a secret little world of their own and were oblivious to all else around.

Ginny seemed to be brooding for the majority of the train ride.

Ernie was reading a book titled _Wizarding Finance; How to Become Chief Executive Officer of Your Own Company by the Time You Turn 18._

Lengthy title, that one had.

As for Draco, he spent the entirety of the ride Owling his father and the other Slytherins. Aside from the mandatory little quip or snide comment, he was silent also.

Needless to say, they were all grateful to arrive.

Draco could see his own breath as he stepped off of the train and onto the snowy platform. The air smelled salty and had the taste of the sea. The light was waning, it seemed; it had taken them the majority of the day to get there. Hermione gasped, and Draco assumed that it was from the cold. Then he looked up, and saw why.

His first impression was that it was some ancient military fortress. Up a steep snow white inclinestood a shockingly black structure, looking so solid and emphatic that he was sure if the whole world came crumbling down around them, that one building would stand erect, untouched. The great looming black turrets rose menacingly into the sky, and unrelenting eyes of stone overlooked the angry blue sea. He heard waves crash on the cliffs below, but seemed nothing more violent than the contrast of the fresh snow and the midnight black castle.

It was a castle, after all. It was the great stronghold of Durmstrang.

"Unbelievable," Harry breathed. "Is it even real?"

"The logistics of the architecture," Ernie said in awe. "How can such a structure be built?"

Draco was sure they would have stood there for the remainder of the evening if he hadn't said something.

"Stop gaping like fish," he intoned wearily. "It isn't polite to stare at anything in Bulgarian culture."

They tore their eyes away from it. "What do you know about Bulgarian culture?" Hermione challenged.

"My father has taken me on vacations and business trips many times here, Granger. I know a lot about their customs, so if you're unsure of anything, just ask me," he said with a wink. He said it only because he knew it would annoy her to death that he knew more about something than she did. She grumbled incoherently and looked away.

Presently a man appeared out of thin air. Harry choked, and Draco realized it was none other than Igor Karkaroff, a Death Eater to this day. He had been punished for running away, but Voldemort had taken him back. Harry's mouth was working soundlessly.

"Manners, _Potter_," Draco spat his way before Igor was in hearing.

"Professor Karkaroff," Draco said immediately, sticking out his hand. "Always a pleasure to see you."

Igor took Draco's hand, smiling entreatingly back. "And you, Mr. Malfoy. My how you've grown."

Malfoy nodded. In Death Eater terms that meant, _you've taken the Dark Mark, haven't you?_

"And Harry Potter," Igor said pleasantly.

"Nice to . . . see you again, Professor," Harry said, smiling a half-hearted smile. They were staying under the same roof as a convicted Death Eater? Things were not looking good.

"And this is . . . ah, I remember, Hermione Graker, wasn't it? You and my student Krum were quite fond of each other, if I recall correctly. He's still here, you know."

Hermione studiously ignored Draco's muffled snort, and smiled brightly at the Headmaster. "It's Granger, sir. And how can that be? If I remember correctly, he was seventeen when I was fourteen. Shouldn't he have graduated by now?"

"He is nineteen right now and his birthday is in December. My castle contains a Finishing School for students who wish to study further. Wizards of up to twenty-five study here."

"How wonderful."

"I don't believe I know you two, however," Igor said quietly.

"Oh!" Draco smiled as if it were all the pleasure in the world to introduce them. "This is Ginny Weasley, sir, a sixth year at Hogwarts."

Draco smiled as they shook hands, and Harry was scared at how pleasant he was being.

"And Ernie Macmillan, from the esteemed house of Hufflepuff."

There was not a trace of mockery or agitation in his voice, and Ernie was surprised that it sounded like a compliment.

"A pleasure." Igor intoned. "Well, we won't be wanting to climb the steep slope up to the castle, so we will take a Portkey."

They each put a hand on the proffered Portkey, and soon landed on firm ground. Draco was immediately aware of his vast surroundings. They were smothered by black marble halls inlaid with gold veins. A grand staircase spiraled below them.

The whole of the castle seemed dark and rich and foreboding. It was exactly as Draco had always imagined it to be. It had a shadowed and enigmatic beauty that seemed to weigh down heavily on their movements. He related it to the deep, rich, sound that rang out after striking a gong.

"You all will be staying on the fourth floor, the highest of all floors."

He led them down the hall until they came to three adjoined rooms.

"Here you are. Your luggage is inside," Igor told them cheerfully. "The Welcome Feast begins at seven, so I will send someone up to remind you. There we will make formal introductions to the other Ambassadors. I hope you will all enjoy your stay at Durmstrang."

He left.

They entered the rooms and were surprised to see that they were as nice and straightforward as the rest of the castle. Two rooms had two beds, and one room had a single bed. Harry and Hermione decided to share a room, and Ginny, feeling decidedly awkward about sharing a room with either of the two boys, took the single. That left Ernie and a slightly disgruntled Draco with the other. Each room had deep marble floors, a roaring fireplace, and a view of the sheer black cliffs and the ocean. Everything was gold and black, and the beds were covered in dark cashmere and silk.

"This is amazing," Hermione said to Harry, once they were alone in the room. She watched a wave crash violently onto the cliffs just below them. Durmstrang was powerful and intense, and perhaps had the dark and elliptic quality that Hogwarts lacked. The light was fading.

"I'm going to check up on Ernie," Harry said after a while, "just to make sure Malfoy hasn't thrown him off of a cliff or anything like that."

"Sure," Hermione replied, "I think I'll stay here."

After he had left, she pulled out _Eleven Ways to Earn All Eleven Newts, _a book she was completely immersed in. Harry stayed in Ernie's room longer than she expected, and when Hermione checked her wristwatch it was half past six. She decided to get ready for the welcome feast.

She chose a soft cream blouse and tailored trousers, and took off her traveling shirt. She wore jeans and a rather flimsy undershirt when she heard the doorknob turn.

"Oh . . . Harry," she said, rather relieved. For a moment she had expected Malfoy. She continued putting her hair into a bun.

Harry, noticing what she was wearing, grinned. "You really shouldn't let me see you like that," he said teasingly, "it's indecent."

"C'mon, Harry," Hermione chided with a small smile, picking up the shirt. "It's _you_. You've known me since I was eleven years old. You're not going to do anything."

"Oh, yeah? How do you know I'm not going to do . . . this!" And he sprang at her and snatched the shirt out of her hands.

Her mouth formed into a small 'O' and she whirled around. "Harry _Potter!_ Give me that blouse back!"

A grin played at his face. With a laugh, she lunged at him, but he was too quick for her. He dodged her lunge easily, and hovered on the other side of the bed.

"Just wear _that_," he said with a laugh. "It looks good on you."

"I will _kill _you!" she said, exasperated, but a smile was playing at her lips all the same. "Now, Harry, that is the only blouse that goes with these trousers . . ."

"Since when did _you _care about style, Hermione?"

"Oh, Harry, of all the clueless, conniving, blundering boys, you must be the very wo–"

Two things happened simultaneously, then. Looking only slightly reproachful, Harry had decided to give her back the blouse, and had reached across the bed to hand it to her. The door also clicked open, and Malfoy was standing there.

He saw Harry with Hermione's shirt in his hand, and the two of them were leaning over a bed.

He cleared his throat, and they looked over at him, startled.

"I'm terribly sorry to interrupt whatever kinky moment you two were probably about to have, but it will have to wait. We're needed downstairs in five minutes."

He didn't leave, but instead just stood there, looking quizzically at the two. He whistled. "And here I was, Potter, thinking you had never–"

"Get _out, _Malfoy," Hermione said vehemently. As a sarcastic afterthought, she added, " you too, Potter."

They both left, but Harry couldn't help sticking his tongue out immaturely at Hermione when Malfoy was not watching.

* * *

Draco shut the door, with Harry right behind him. _So Potter and Granger are together, _he thought. _End of that mystery._

Harry turned to Draco.

"Look, Malfoy, Hermione and I aren't–"

Draco was rapidly shaking his head. "You know what, Potter? I really don't need to know. I don't even _care _what you and Granger are doing, just don't _ever _do it where I can see or hear you. Bad images, you know what I mean?"

Harry was angry. "We're not–!"

But Draco was striding down the hall.

Draco next came to Ginny's room. He opened the door, checking his watch as he did so.

"Five minutes, Weasley. And wear something halfway decent, not your usual shabby . . ."

He looked up and for the second time that day had intruded on something he had not meant to. And _no, _it was not Ginny and Ernie making out. It was Ginny, without a shirt on.

_Perhaps I should kill myself now, _Draco thought, _before I die a horrible and painful death by torture._

Ginny stood perfectly still for a moment. Draco took a deep breath. "Believe it or not, I did not mean–"

"GET OUT, MALFOY!"

He got out, slamming the door behind him. Exasperated, he went to Ernie's room, reached for the handle . . . and knocked. Most emphatically and certainly knocked. If there was one thing he was not up to seeing, it was Ernie with _any _article of clothing removed.

Ernie opened the door, fully dressed. "What are you knocking for, Malfoy? This is _your _room. And did you hear screaming a few moments ago?"

"Erm . . . it was just the wind . . . howling through the cliffs," Draco said jumpily. "Anyhow . . . we need to be downstairs in five minutes, and . . . put a new tie on this instant, you have the worst sense of fashion I've ever seen in my life!"

He slammed that door shut too, upset with life in general.

Five minutes later, they had all conjugated at the top of the stairs. They were fully, and, in Ernie's case, stylishly, dressed.

Harry turned to Draco. "I'm going to try to say this _one_ more time . . ."

"Oh, tell it to someone who _remotely_ cares, Potter," Draco drawled wearily.

"Do you ever _knock, _Malfoy?" Ginny asked angrily, glaring at him through slitted eyes.

"Yes, he does knock. Quite a bit, actually . . ." Ernie trailed off, confused at the heated conversation. Ginny rounded on him.

"Who asked _your _opinion, you Hufflepuff sissy?" she boomed, her voice rising steadily. Ernie looked surprised.

"This coming with a freckled Gryffindor with a wench for a mother," Malfoy retorted, his voice deadly calm.

Ginny just stood there, trembling with anger. Ms. Weasley was like a mother to Harry, and he was personally affronted.

"Malfoy, why I'll–" he lunged for Draco.

"What is your _problem?_" said Ernie to Ginny.

Harry collided forcefully into Draco, and Ginny pointed her wand at Ernie threateningly.

"Expelliarmus!" a voice cried, and wands flew into the air.

Shocked, they all turned to see Hermione holding five wands, and breathing through her nostrils.

"All of you," she said in a dangerous voice, "in my room, now."

Wordlessly, they marched in a single file line into her room. She slammed the door shut behind them, and stared with disgust and anger. Draco reached to take his wand back.

"_No,_" she said venomously, evading his grasp. He backed away.

"Look," he said at last, "it's no big secret that we're all not the best of friends. Actually, most of us hate each other," she continued, sounding resigned.

"When we go into public and meet the other Ambassadors, we must put on a facade. In public, we are all friends. In public, we all trust each other."

She shot Harry a deadly glare when he snorted.

"If the other Ambassadors find out that we cannot work as a team, they will shatter us apart in a moment. We are all to be polite to each other, though I say it would be so much more fun to bite each other's heads off. Understood?"

Everyone nodded.

"And one more thing," Hermione added, as an afterthought. "I believe that you all are familiar with the saying, _when in Rome, do as the Romans do. _It applies."

Little did she know how fully she would regret her words later on.

Hermione opened the door, handing everyone back their wands.

"I hate you all," Draco mumbled dramatically as he grabbed his own wand. With that they headed down the stairs, and in the distance Draco could swear he heard a gong ring.

((A.N. Next chapter... the Hogwart's Ambassadors meet the Bulgarian and French Ambassadors... then the real games begin. Muhahaha. I'd probably be okay with it if you gave me a review... :D))


	5. Immensely Irritating Introductions

((**A.N.** Alas, Chapter 5 is a day late, and we are halfway through Part I of this four-part story. It's high time I thanked my reviewers.

**Le Noir de Adhara: **Wow, my foreshadowing has gotten better? Interesting... I'm glad you're in suspense!

**Infinite Inficio: **You guessed that Viktor would be one of the Durmstrang Ambassadors... you'll find out this chapter:D

**baie baie: **I update every Friday.

**CareBearErin: **I'm really glad you like Draco. He's one of the funnest characters to write!

**Loony Ferret: **"Hilariously good" ? Thanks! This story is so much more light-hearted than my other ones... for now. Muahaha.

**Anuksunamun-Kalia: **What a great review, it made me so happy! I'm glad you're enjoying the story so much...I'm having a lot of fun writing it. :D

**Miss Elvira Dark: **I'll keep going, then.

**fantasticarla: **Draco's funny? That's good, 'cause this is one of my first tries at humour. :)

**Alenor: **In my personal opinion, this story just gets better and better as the chapters go on. I really like where it's going...

**haiga: **I'll just pretend that gangster moment never happened... ;D

**white-stellar: **My favorite saying in chapter 4 was "He was upset with life in general." It made me laugh:D

**ydole3343: **Yes, this story is also planned to be Harry/Ginny. We'll see where it goes. Yeah I know what you mean about Hermione and Ron... I'm still trying to get over it. :(

**cocovanilla: **I'm glad you think I'm doing good so far, thanks:D

**dumblydoor: **Luna as an Ambassador would have been a good idea, but I didn't feel that she was prestigious enough to get in. Ernie's pretty smart and well-to-do... and like I said, Harry/Ginny is definitely a possibility.

**ebtwisty9: **Thanks!

**iKonoKlastiKsiNNer: **Wow Durmstrang reminds you of Batman? I really liked Batman Begins... I'm not usually a big superhero fan but that movie was excellent!

**shag1me1draco: **Here you go.

Sorry if I forgot anyone. This chapter's kind of short but really important at the same time. Enjoy it:D))

**

* * *

**

**PART I: COME TO ME IN DREAMS**

_Oh **dream** how sweet, too sweet, too **bittersweet**,_

_Whose **wakening** should have been in Paradise . . ._

– _From "Echo" by Christina Rossetti _

* * *

Chapter 5; Immensely Irritating Introductions 

They all halted outside of the door to the dinner hall, Igor behind them. The Hogwarts' studentswere a bit late, predictably, and everyone else had already been seated. Draco observed that Ernie looked nervous, Hermione looked confident, Harry looked sick, and Ginny still looked angry.

"Are you ready?"

"We are, sir," replied Draco confidently. Igor opened the double doors. Their eyes were met with blaring light and their ears with incessant chattering. As they entered, the chattering died down considerably. Draco could feel eyes on him, and many of the females in the room were openly gaping. They came to a round table at the center of the Hall where the other Ambassadors were sitting. Draco had to consciously stop his mouth from dropping open as he recognized Viktor Krum (How had he gotten accepted?), and (what was her name?), the female champion of the Triwizard Tournament. He noted that she was immeasurably stunning.

They were introduced loudly to the entire school after that, which was a trifle embarrassing to Draco and the others. After that ordeal they had a chance to meet the other Ambassadors. The Durmstrang team consisted of Krum, two equal hairy boys (one which bared an odd resemblance to Harry), a blonde pigtailed girl, and a darker girl with thick eyebrows and an imposing air. He learned that their names were Victor, Ivan, Franz, Hilda, and Ava respectively, but quickly forgot who was who. Krum lit up when he saw Hermione, butchering her name (Herm-o-ninny!), and introduced her to his friends.

"It is wonderful to see you again, Victor," Hermione said, sounding genuinely happy. "This castle is simply amazing"

"I am glad you think so, Hermi-o-ninny. I vill show you all of it vile you are here."

Draco turned away from them, disliking Krum on the spot.

The Beauxbatons group proved much more to his liking. There was Fleur, and also a dark haired and beautiful girl by the name of Myra, two poncy looking boys named Jaime and Michael, and a red-haired girl named Renae. When Draco first spoke to the auburn haired Renae, he thought it odd that she had no trace of a French accent. Fleur was something else, though. Her long silvery hair and starlit eyes were surreal. Draco had never seen anyone more beautiful.

"Ah, 'Arry!" Fleur gushed, placing a hand on his shoulder. "My, 'ave you grown. You are taller than me now! And Geeny Weasley . . . 'ow is your brother Bill doing?"

She did not wait for an answer, but instead turned to Draco.

"And who eez 'zis?" she asked softly.

Draco flashed what Hermione would later coin his Charming Smile, swearing that if it was ever directed at her she might drop into a dead faint. Whether this was from utter shock or his admitted good looks, she was not sure.

"I'm Draco Malfoy, it's a pleasure," he said charmingly, and swept down to kiss her right hand. "And you are?"

Fleur could not have looked more delighted. "I am Fleur Delacour. Malfoy . . . I 'ave heard that name before."

"I'm sure you have. We're a very prominent family," Draco replied without a shred of modesty. Fleur seemed all the more delighted.

Disgusted, Hermione turned to Harry, but at that moment a gong rang, and Igor Karkaroff stood in front of the school. He proceeded to make a long and uninteresting speech about the Ambassadors and the importance of reviving the program that only two of the Ambassadors bothered to listened to.

After that, dinner was served, and Draco tried not to look upset about getting placed next to Harry and Ginny. Hermione nudged him as she walked by, and Draco refrained from rolling his eyes. _Of course, _Draco thought sarcastically, _she wants me to be civil to Potter. _

"Enjoying your meal, _Harry?_" Draco asserted in a falsely pleasant tone. He stabbed a fork into his meat as he said it, glaring daggers at Harry.

"Immensely, _Draco_," Harry retorted with a painful smile. He grabbed a bread roll and ripped it apart savagely.

Meanwhile, Hermione was chatting with Krum.

"Tomorrow, Hermo-ninny, ve vill take you on my boat to the ocean, and you vill experience the dark might of Durmstrang," Krum proclaimed in a hearty voice.

"That sounds interesting," Hermione replied. Her attention was drawn to Ernie, who was chatting with the dark-haired beauty, Myra, about his opinion on world affairs. Surprisingly, she was listening very closely, and seemed engaged in the conversation.

After dinner was over, the tables all disappeared, and Draco surmised that was a bit of a social period, set aside to talk and mingle.

Hermione and Krum joined Draco and Fleur, and Fleur immediately smiled at Hermione. "Ah, 'Ermione, I believe your name is. And 'ow could I forget Viktor Krum? You two were partners at ze Yule Ball, I believe? Isn't that sweet, you are still together."

Hermione flushed. "Oh, we're not together," she opined quickly.

"Of course you are not," Fleur replied condescendingly, "but you 'ave not changed one bit, darling. You are still zat bushy haired fourteen year old girl I remember so well."

Fleur's plastered smile irritated Hermione, but she grudgingly smiled back. Fleur turned to Draco and beamed, as if they shared some intimate secret, and he smiled quickly back. Krum was standing very close to Hermione.

"I zink Hermo-ninny has grown a great deal since I last saw her. She is very pretty," Krum stated.

Hermione flushed at this too.

"I don't recall anyone asking your opinion," Draco pointed out.

"And who are _you?_" Krum interrogated, rather rudely.

Hermione's eyes flashed dangerously at Draco, and her face seemed to say _be careful. _She turned with a smile to Krum.

"Viktor, this is Draco Malfoy. Mal . . . Draco, certainly you remember Krum."

She smiled brightly at Draco, willing him to cooperate.

"Oh . . . I remember Krum," Draco assured her, in what some would consider a sinister voice.

Meanwhile, Ginny had been talking with Harry, until he had been steered away by Ava. Now one of the large Bulgarian Ambassadors approached her. Ivan was his name, if she remembered correctly.

"Ah . . . Geeny, is it?" he asked loudly.

"Yes," she said a little too quickly.

"I did not know the Hogwarts girls were so beautiful."

He was staring at her disconcertingly, and she did not like it one bit. She did not know what to say. "Well, I . . ." she began.

He took her arm and began steering her forcefully toward the door.

"Come upstairs with me, Geeny. I vill show you my . . ."

"Your _room?_" came a voice from behind them. "How thoughtful of you."

Draco had appeared, looking cool and calm as ever. He took Ginny's other arm and smiled tightly at the other Ambassador.

"We would love to take a tour of the castle with you later," Draco continued nonchalantly. "I'm sure it would be . . . delightful. But Ginny, Fleur Delacour is asking to speak with you, and I'm sure we don't want to keep her _waiting_."

He steered her away quite pleasantly, but when they were far away enough, dropped her arm like a hot potato.

Ginny turned to him, meaning to thank Draco for rescuing her.

"Malfoy, why in the world did you . . .?"

"Weasley," he cut her off quite savagely. "I would have six older brothers to answer to if anything happened to you, and I would rather not be eviscerated before the age of eighteen. Don't expect me to do it again. Just stop flirting around like a dunce."

"I wasn't–"

But he was already gone.

Truthfully, Draco had been looking for any excuse to get away from Krum. He hated the bloke.

Minutes after that, Hermione announced that they were tired from their journey and would be leaving. They said goodbye, all laughter and pleasant smiles. Hermione shut the door of the Dining Hall behind them, and in moments was glaring at Draco.

"What was that stunt you pulled in there with Krum, Malfoy? What is your problem?"

"I don't like that bloke at all," Draco said callously.

"You don't like _anyone, _Malfoy," Harry cut in.

"Blatantly untrue, Potter. I like Fleur well enough," Draco pointed out.

They began walking up the staircase to their rooms.

"Why do you put on this whole charming facade when you're really _such _a bastard?" Ginny asked bluntly.

Draco's expression seemed icier than ever as he said, "Did it ever occur to you, Weasley, that maybe that wasn't a facade at all? Did it ever occur to your self-centered little mind that maybe I just can't stand self righteous do-gooders like Potter and yourself?"

"Right, Malfoy," Harry said pointedly, "because on the contrary, we really want to hang around with Junior Death Eaters like you."

Draco rounded on Harry. "For the last time, Potter, do not go making false assumptions. Just because my father is a Death Eater doesn't mean that I am one too."

His eyes were blazing. He looked really angry.

"Show us your arm, then," Ginny said, crossing her own arms.

Draco turned his gaze to her and seemed to consider. "Fine," he hissed, and threw back the sleeve of his left arm. It was pale and clean.

Harry was genuinely surprised. He had been so sure Malfoy was a Death Eater.

"If you're all finished asking idiotic questions, I'm going to bed now," Draco informed them defiantly. With that final statement, he stalked off into the darkness.

((**A.N. **Next chapter: All fifteen Ambassadors go on a boat ridealong the coast, and hilarity ensues, but is there something sinister lurking below the calm surface?


	6. Catamaran Catfight

((**A.N. **Chapter 6, yes it's a week late, but I figured you guys would be okay with it. Thank you to all those who reviewed, and thank you to my beta **Ali **for her extensive help with this and all other chapters. :D On with the show...))

**

* * *

**

**PART I: COME TO ME IN DREAMS**

_Where **souls** brimful of love abide and meet;_

_Where **thirsting longing **eyes . . ._

– _From "Echo" by Christina Rosetti_

* * *

**Chapter 6**; Catamaran Catfight 

Hermione awoke early the next morning. She was restless, and did not know the reason. It was stuffy in the room, and though she knew it would be cold, Hermione pulled on a shawl and stepped out onto the balcony. It was not as if she would be able to see the sunrise, but a rosy mist encompassed the snow-covered landscape, and the ocean was calm as the moon set.

She thought about the other Ambassadors. She had not gotten a chance to talk with them all, but Krum was wonderful, and Fleur was awful. Myra, with her illustrious dark looks, seemed mysterious, though pleasant. Hilda, a large blonde girl from Durmstrang, reminded her of a female version of Crabbe, and Jaime, a boy from Beauxbatons, was tall and elegant.

She was interrupted by the click of the balcony door opening, but did not turn around. She closed her eyes, hoping it was not who she knew it was.

"Oh. Granger," the voice drawled, inescapably Malfoy's lilting sneer.

She turned to face him, her eyes narrowed. Couldn't she get a moment's peace from him? Ever?

His silver eyes seemed luminescent in the soft morning light. "I should have seen your bushy head from a mile away. I had been hoping to enjoy a morning view, but instead I got to see a beaver. How exalting. I am going to leave now."

And he turned to leave.

"If I'm a beaver then you are a ferret," Hermione mumbled, not in the mood to fight. She really did hate bringing the ferret incident up, because it was getting old, but her brain cells were not working properly. Perhaps it was the early hour. Perhaps it was the cold. Perhaps it was that Malfoy's silvery blonde hair was shining in the morning light, blinding her. It was hard to look at properly. Not that she had been looking at Malfoy's hair.

"That wounded me deeply, Granger."

"Do us both a favor and sod off, idiot."

"Will do."

After that short and primarily pointless exchange, he was gone.

Harry woke up soon after, along with Ginny and Ernie. They washed up, and all met outside their rooms.

"What's in store for today, Potter?" Draco asked acidly. "Are you going to save the world or merely trounce around in your own self-invented superiority?"

Harry looked at him disbelievingly. "Isn't it a little early for your full-fledged insults? Don't you want to warm up a bit with some sarcastic commentary, maybe a few scathing quips?"

Draco opened his mouth, and Hermione noted that he had a silver tongue to match those silver eyes. Not that she had been looking at his eyes.

However, Fleur and the Beauxbatons group appeared promptly around a corner.

"Drah-co!" said Fleur, delighted. "Are you staying upstairs, also?"

Hermione cleared her throat from behind Draco. "Yes, actually, we are."

Fleur's bubbly manner disappeared quickly when she saw Hermione.

"How . . . delightful," Fleur said carefully.

"May I walk you down to breakfast?" Draco asked, cutting Fleur and Hermione's glaring contest short. He held out his arm. Fleur looked smug as she took it. With one last poisonous glance back at Hermione, Fleur left.

They ambled down the staircase, which was made of dark mahogany, and Fleur bragged about her own castle, and complained about Durmstrang.

"In ze Beauxbatons castle, there is a room zat is made entirely of ice."

"You're lying," Draco said immediately, and little bit playfully. A room full of ice would require magic of a profound sort.

"Zat is ze problem, Drah-co," she said softly. She stopped and laid a hand on his arm. "I cannot lie."

"Of course you can," said Draco quickly. "I will by no means be offended. I lie all the time," he continued offhandedly, thinking of the concealing charm he had used on his arm the night before. Being Gryffindor, theothershad believed him. Even Hermione.

"You do not understand. I am a quarter Veela, Drah-co. It is impossible for a Veela to lie. Literally."

Draco frowned. "You're part Veela?"

"Yes."

He had heard rumors that Veela could not lie, but he was not sure that he believed them.

"Tell me that my shirt is green," said Draco quickly, "or I swear I'll hex you."

His shirt was not, in fact, green, but rather a dark shade of midnight blue. Fleur noticed that he had taken out his wand. Was he serious about the hex?

"Your shirt is . . ." she seemed to be enduring some sort of internal struggle, "gr-it's blue."

Draco could tell that the struggle had been authentic. He looked at her pityingly. "You must not be able to get away with anything, Miss Delacour," Draco said tightly.

Fleur smiled mischievously. "I have my ways."

* * *

Breakfast was a rather tedious affair. Hermione had a hard time acting friendly towards Draco and Fleur, who she had ironically been seated next to. Thankfully, they ignored her for the majority of the meal. 

"You see the French Ambassador, Renae?" Jaime asked Ginny with a soft French accent at the table. "She is a new student at our school. Her credentials were so impressive, 'owever, that she was accepted into ze Ambassador program immediately. Despite this, no one knows where she came from. Odd, is it not?"

Ginny nodded, storing the piece of information away in her mind.

"Do they really teach Dark Arts here?" Harry asked Ivan, the dark-haired Bulgarian boy. Harry had a fascinated expression on his face.

Ivan shrugged. "Some," he said. "But it does not mean that everyone at za school uses them. Za Dark Arts classes are optional. There are many respectable students at this school."

He left unspoken that there were also many unrespectable ones.

The other students went to classes, which left only the fifteen Ambassadors and Igor Karkaroff in the stone hall.

"Today," Igor announced, "Krum has opined to take you on his catamaran along the coast. There you may enjoy a traditional Bulgarian Buffet. Tonight, I will divide you into five groups of three, with one person representing each school in a group. Then you will be assigned Advanced Course Work. For now, however, allow my Ambassadors to escort you onto their ship for a relaxing afternoon on the sea."

Little did Hermione know that the trip would be far from relaxing. Quite the opposite, as she would soon find out.

* * *

The ship was impressive. Hermione's thoughts went back to fourth year when the Durmstrang bunch had arrived on a large, oceangoing ship. 

This was a catamaran, and it was relatively smaller. As Krum helped the others (tried to help Draco, was really more accurate), on board, she noticed huge sails that had not been unfurled. There was also a classic steering wheel about as large as Ginny.

It was a cold day, and the wind stirred Hermione's hair. Ginny looked a bit disoriented as she stepped onto the boat. Hermione noticed a _Witch Weekly_ stowed hastily into Ginny's bag. She rolled her eyes. Ernie, despite his relative silence, seemed pleased to be on board.

"It vill be a few minutes before ve are prepared to set sail," Krum announced. "Excuse us for a moment."

They disappeared into the cabin, most likely to get equipment.

Ginny sat down primly on a small wooden bench and pulled out her _Witch Weekly _magazine. Draco hovered in front of her, and suddenly stooped down.

"What's this? Is Weasely reading about the rich and famous because she knows she'll never be amongst them?"

He commenced in snatching the magazine out of her hands.

"Malfoy!" she screamed, exasperated.

He read the cover. "Top ten most influential wizards of the year . . ."

Smirk.

"I wonder who made _that_ list?" Draco said, gazing pointedly in Harry's direction.

"Malfoy, give it back," Hermione said in a pained tone. Lazily, Draco flipped to the cover story.

"What do you know?" he crowed gleefully. "Potter made number one." He commenced in reading the article in a scornful and sarcastic tone. "'Harry Potter tops our list at number one. Not only is he an international celebrity, but he is_ rich_,_ powerful_, and is one of the most _pivotal influences _of our age. Of course, there's no overlooking his_ rugged_ physical appeal. At age seventeen, Harry has charcoal locks and _intense_ green eyes. He is sure to be one of the most eligible bachelors in . . ."

"Malfoy!" Harry roared, looking for any way to put an end to the humiliation. "Shut up!"

He tried to grab it out of Draco's hands, but Draco elegantly danced away from him.

"I'm disgusted, actually," Draco said. "You've beaten the _Minister of Magic, _Potter. Not to mention Percy Weasley, William Choler, Oliver Wood, _Albus Dumbledore, _and . . ." his face suddenly went an ashen shade of grey.

"Malfoy?" Ernie said tentatively.

He stared as the page, scarcely believing what he saw. " . . .And me."

"Pardon?" Hermione asked politely. "What was that last bit about you?"

Perhaps she had heard wrong, or perhaps she had been zoning out during the conversation.

Harry plucked the magazine out of Draco's unreceptive fingers. He too stared in bewilderment, and then began to read slowly.

"'Gaining a spot at number eight on our list is _Draco Malfoy, _sole heir to the entire Malfoy fortune. The Malfoys are one of the most prominent Pureblood families in England, and everyone's eyes have turned to the youngest member of their family. Though the fortune in itself is reasonable influence, Draco's father Lucius Malfoy takes a very active role in the Ministry of Magic. His wife, Narcissa Malfoy, is famous for her cordial balls, and it suffices to say that she sets the style and expectation of Wizarding culture today. The youngest Malfoy has recently been selected as a school Ambassador to Bulgaria as well as France. The influence of the Malfoy family has far reaching consequences. The question on all of our minds is: who will Draco Malfoy marry? Speculations on this topic spiral out of control as Draco nears the proper age. It seems as if this dashing, witty seventeen year old will shape the modern age of upper class Wizarding society with his influence and charm. Indeed, he is already taking up his father's mantle."

There was silence. No one moved.

Harry promptly threw the magazine overboard, ignoring the indignant squawk from Ginny.

"Load . . . of . . . rubbish," Harry barely managed to say. How had _Malfoy _made the list? He was not important. Or was he?

"And I suppose you think _you _deserve a spot on that list, Potter?" Draco asked, his voice dangerously calm. "You think you're so goddamn famous that you can just–"

"I _didn't _say that, Malfoy," Harry retorted vehemently.

"I so _sick _of you," Draco continued wearily. "I'm just so _sick _of you!"

"You're jealous!" Harry accused hotly.

Two high pink spots of color appeared in Draco's cheeks. "If you even realized how self-centered you sound . . . not everything is about _you, _Potter, hard as that probably is to believe!"

Harry's hands were shaking with rage as he reached for his wand. They glared at each other, hate emanating so dangerously that no one wanted to step between them.

"Heave ho!" a voice said suddenly, and the rest of the Ambassadors appeared. Harry seemed to be weighing whether or not it was still worth it to murder Malfoy on the spot, despite all of the witnesses. He apparently decided against it, because his hand relaxed.

"You're dead," he said under his breath, but Draco only smirked.

Hermione gave Draco a seething look before turning to watch Krum and his friends undock the ship. Krum gave the ship a hard push from the dock after untying the ropes. Salty ocean spray splashed up around the catamaran.

"Every-vone take a seat some-vere!" Krum yelled, his Bulgarian accent more pronounced than usual. "Ve are in for a bumpy start!"

The ship swayed disconcertingly, and Hermione stumbled and grabbed the railing. A hand was immediately there to steady her.

Krum smiled down at her kindly. "You must sit until you gain your sea legs. Ve vouldn't want anyone . . . falling overboard."

With this final comment he glared at Draco, who had been listening. Then he was at the head of the ship, calling orders and watching carefully as the shipmates charmed the catamaran to begin moving.

"Overgrown git," Draco snapped irritably.

Hermione took a seat next to Harry.

"I do not like zis," Fleur was saying to Jaime.

"I don't care much for Bulgaria either," Jaime replied with a soft French accent. "I will be pleased to give you a Tonic, should you become seasick."

Fleur's face clearly said _how _dare_ you even suggest I do such a vile thing. _

As they moved out of the port, the ship began rocking pleasantly. When she turned to Ginny, though, she found the younger girl a bit green.

"I don't feel well," she told Hermione, ashen faced.

"Deep breaths then," Hermione said soothingly.

While Hermione was counseling Ginny, Harry got up and tested out his sea legs. After stumbling a bit, he found that it was no use at all, and simply held onto the railing. He watched the five Bulgarian Ambassadors going about their work, and wondered at how fast and strong they were. They grabbed ropes and floated around effortlessly, while Harry was sure that he himself looked like a big stumbling git.

"Odd, is it not?" a voice said to his right. He turned his head and saw Myra holding the railing, her dark hair flapping in the wind.

"How ze girls help ze boys, I mean," she elaborated. Her accent was not as pronounced as Fleurs, though it was deeper and more sultry. "In my country, girls would never be forced to do such work. I think it is nice, though."

"Yeah. They look really strong, don't they?"

Myra smiled, a transfixing smile.

"You are Harry Potter, are you not? I read about you in _Witch Weekly_," she said neutrally.

"Oh?" said Harry, no doubt reddening. "That was a load of rubbish, honestly."

"I know," Myra said lightly. Then she laughed, and he laughed too, pleased at her honesty.

They were rudely interrupted by someone being sick overboard. They turned to see Ginny, leaning over the railing and gasping for air.

"Oh, dear," Ginny said after catching her breath. "I'm going into the cabin where there is less motion."

Hermione watched her go, and then stood up experimentally. She swayed. _This is way harder than it looks, _she thought. Holding onto the railing, she made her way to the front. Krum was steering jauntily.

She turned to see Draco at the very head of the stern. He seemed to have no problem getting used to the rocking of the ship, as he was standing gracefully, elbows perched lightly on the railing. The wind pushed his stark blond hair from his face, and his blue blouse was plastered against his lean frame. For once he looked relaxed, and his silver eyes seemed to match the gray of the sea.

Anger flared inexplicably in Hermione. _Damn him! He has no right to look that good! He's something right out of a Muggle romance novel, I swear. _

Before she could fully process what she had just thought, Draco said, "How many times do I have to tell you, Granger? It's rude to stare in Bulgarian culture."

Hermione frowned. "I wasn't–"

BAM.

"Arghh!" Draco screamed, as the boat veered over a huge wave. He feet flew off the ground, and he was nearly tossed overboard.

Gasping, Draco backed away from the edge.

"_Oops,_" said Krum loudly, "my hand slipped from the wheel. You vill vant to stay way from the very front of the ship, Malfoy. It proves . . . quite dangerous, at times."

Krum smiled unpleasantly at Draco through his beetle black eyebrows.

Draco gave him a look that probably would have sent Krum straight to Hell, had looks been able to kill. He moved away, careful to stay near the inside of the ship.

"Look, Hermi-oninny," Krum pointed, "look behind you."

Hermione turned around and gasped at the sight that met her eyes. Behind them, like an all consuming darkness, towered the sheer black cliff on which the castle had been built. The cliffs climbed straight up, their jagged peaks stretching for the heavens. And upon the cliffs loomed the dark and majestic castle of Durmstrang.

"Wow," was all she could manage to say.

"The Onyx Cliffs of Durmstrang, Hermy-oninny. Produced by a volcano long ago. There are few who are lucky enough to behold this sight."

"Big deal," Draco said from across the catamaran, out of Krum's hearing. He was talking to Jaime, the elegant French Ambassador.

"Honestly," Jaime said pompously. "It zat their idea of beauty? Wait until you see our castle, Drah-co. You are in for a surprise."

"Am I?" Draco asked skeptically.

Jaime smiled a bit mysteriously. "You will see."

"Oy! Hilda!" Krum called from across the ship. "Ve vill see how close to the cliffs ve can take this thing!"

"Yes, Viktor!" she shouted back.

"The waves get choppier as ve move inland, so you may vant to hold on and sit down!" Krum said, glancing back at his passengers.

"What!" Dracoexclaimed suddenly, snapping to attention. He had been on sailing ships before, and he knew for a fact that it was not safe to take oceangoing ships anywhere near the coast in fall or winter.

He clambered up toward Krum, who was calmly steering the ship straight toward the coast.

"Krum!" Malfoy called over the wind. "Are you crazy? You can't take a seafaring ship up to the coast! The hull will hit the ocean floor and blow a hole in the bottom of your boat. If that doesn't happen, the waves will smash us up against those cliffs."

Krum stared straight ahead, and a steely smile came over his features.

"I don't know vhat you are talking about, Meester Malfoy," Krum said calmly and deliberately. The coast loomed closer.

"Malfoy, what's going on?" Harry asked uneasily. Draco ignored him.

"Are you trying to get us all killed!" Draco whispered dangerously.

Krum did not reply, just kept steering.

"Krum, you idiot, turn this ship around right now!" Draco yelled. What if Krum really _was _trying to get them all killed?

Draco turned to Hilda, who was unfurling the sails, and the two boys working the Speed Charms, Ivan and Franz. "Are you all _nuts? _Stop the ship!" Draco cried, abandoning all decorum.

"Viktor is the captain of this ship, Meester Malfoy. Ve take orders only from him," Hilda said uncertainly. Franz and Ivan were frowning. They looked troubled.

_This is crazy, _Draco thought. _This guy is absolutely off of his rocker. _The waves were growing, slamming into the ship with unexpected force. The coast loomed nearer and nearer as the ship gained speed.

Ginny looked sicker than ever, and all of the passengers looked at the cliffs with mounting alarm.

An enormous wave slammed into the ship, and several Ambassadors lost their footing and slid across the deck. Draco heard a distinct crack, and thought it must be the hull hitting the rocks.

_Someone has to stop him, _Draco thought desperately. He looked at Harry, who was confused and alarmed. _No one understands what he is doing but me, _Draco realized.

That meant only one thing. It was Draco who would have to stop him.

With agile strength, Draco leapt to the left side of the steering wheel and tried to wrench it out of Krum's hands. It was large, however, and Krum was strong. The ship veered left, and everyone was thrown savagely.

"No!" With a yell, Krum wrenched the steering wheel to his side. The ship slammed to the right.

"Let . . . go!" Draco roared. Left.

"It eez mine!" Right.

"Bastard!" Left.

"Imbecile!" Right.

"Somebody stop them!" Hilda roared.

But it was too late. The ship was bouncing out of control, on a tipsy turvy course toward the cliffs. It had picked up too much speed, and like a runaway train, was bent on certain destruction.

"IMPEDIMENTA!" roared a voice through the clamor.

To an outside onlooker, the ship merely stopped. Its passengers, however, did not. They were thrown forward with an immense amount of force, and all of them landed with a thunk about five meters from where they had originally stood.

"Umph," Hilda said elegantly.

The first person to scrabble up was Draco, onto his hands and knees. He had a nasty bump on the side of his head that had already turned slightly purple.

"You!" he hissed in an accusing voice. "You are an _inconceivable idiot._"

He pointed a shaking finger at Krum.

Krum dragged himself up, gasping, his hair terribly askew.

"You bastard! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN ZA DEATH OF VUS ALL!" Krum roared.

"Me? Me! You're the maniac who tried to steer us straight into the coast! Have you completely lost your mind?" Draco seemed calm, controlled, incoherent with rage. Hermione had never seen him so white.

Krum was trembling with indignation. "I had the ship completely under control until _you _grabbed za wheel! For your information, Malfoy, these waters are deeper around the coast. Ve vould not have crashed!"

"You're a liar!" Draco roared. He leapt at Krum and punched him flat across the face. Krum responded with a kick to Draco's stomach, and before they knew it the two boys were rolling around on the ground.

"Maniac . . .!" Punch.

"Lunatic!" Shove.

"Overgrown Bulgarian half-wit!" Uppercut.

"Narcisstic, oily headed, rat-faced coward!" Drop kick.

"Stop," a voice said clearly. It was calm, even, considering the circumstances.

Draco and Krum stopped.

Before they could figure out who had said it, the smaller Ivan had grabbed Krum around the middle, and Ernie had reached for Draco's arm.

"If the two of you would stop pounding the stuffing out of each other," Harry announced suddenly, "you would realize that we have a far more pressing problem."

Draco and Krum both turned comically to see that the ship had frozen about five meters away from crashing into the cliffs. The waves, however, smashed violently against the hull. The ship was in danger of being unfrozen and smashed.

A few of the girls screamed. Hermione glanced around, noting that a few people had become unconscious, Ginny amongst them.

"What should we do now, _Captain?_" Draco spat viciously.

"I hate you!" Krum roared unhelpfully.

"Viktor," Hilda addressed him desperately. "We need to figure out a way to turn za ship around, right _now._"

Krum seemed to come to his senses, somewhat, and his eyes cleared.

"Ve vill need pressure on za wheel from one side, vhile I turn it from za other. Hilda, take down za sails, they vill only push us farther onto za coast. Who will help me?" he questioned, and Harry, being Harry, took hold of the wheel.

The effort was humongous, and involved several grunts and noises that Hermione could have done without hearing, but they managed to turn the boat around completely. Then the two Charmsmen, Ivan and Franz, jumped up and began forming Speed Charms. Soon the company was off again, and Harry was the first one to reach Ginny. He kneeled over her.

"She's just unconscious," Harry said. "_Ennervate!" _

Ginny stirred and her eyes fluttered open. "What . . . ?"

Fleur screamed when Draco revived her, and clutched at him, wide eyed.

"Where am I, Drah-co?"

"Krum tried to run the ship into the coast," Draco said wryly. Fleur could not tell if he was kidding or not.

After reviving the other three people that had been unconscious (Jaime, Iva, and Renae), Krum announced from the stern that they were heading back to shore.

Hermione sidled carefully up to Krum. She was sure that she looked a real mess.

"Listen, Viktor, I'm really sorry about Mal– about Draco," she said quietly. She could not have been more ashamed of Draco's actions. The brain dead prat! What had he been thinking? Hogwarts and Durmstrang would probably never have the same relationship because of him.

"Do not apologize for him," Viktor said, his voice stony. "He does not deserve your protection."

She sighed, knowing that it was true.

"There is one more thing, Hermi-o-ninny. Ve may be sailing into a storm," he whispered, dropping his voice. "Do not inform za others. They vill panic."

"Does it ever _end?" _Hermione asked incredulously

Krum was silent for a few moments, staring at the choppy ocean and steering softly.

"Sometimes we wish for an ending where inevitably there is only a beginning," Krum said softly.

He seemed troubled in that moment, but she realized that he was trying to comfort her. Why did his words seem to ring true?

"You're right," she said with a nod.

"Who . . . who cast the spell that froze the ship?" Ginny asked the passengers shakily. Everyone looked around. Eerily, there was no reply, and everyone looked confused. "Well?" she continued. "It had to be one of us."

Nobody came forward.

The storm never actually came. It seemed to be waiting, biding its time for another day.

But indeed, it would come eventually.

((**A.N. **And indeed, that is the end of this chapter... but next chapter, suspicions increase and Draco corners Hermione in an empty hallway. But is that such a bad thing?))


	7. Academic Accusations

((**A.N. **Chapter 7. Things really start to get interesting. You know, it's been seven chapters and yet still there is no hint of a plot. There's a plot around here somewhere... I think.))

**PART I: COME TO ME IN DREAMS**

* * *

_Watch the slow **door**_

_That opening, letting in, **lets out no more**._

– _From "Echo" by Christina Rosetti _

* * *

Chapter 7; Academic Accusations 

Dinner was a bit of a quiet, subdued affair compared to the events of the day before, but it gave Draco time to think.

As far as he was concerned, Krum had tried to kill them all that afternoon. The way he had calmly steered the ship, the maniacal glint in his eye, and the indignation in his voice all convinced Draco of this fact.

There was something _off _about Viktor Krum, that much he knew.

A nameless someone had cast the most powerful freezing charm that Draco had ever witnessed, and the only two people that he _knew _had not done it were Krum and himself. And Potter, because Potter was a moron.

Speaking of Potter . . . Draco was failing miserably at the whole _friend _thing. He had tried, believe it or not, but Potter hated him, if anything, more than ever. _How am I supposed to befriend the pathetic prat?_ Draco thought irritably.

He still did not have a Really Cunning Plan. Why couldn't he think of one when he needed it the most? He felt as if he was a failure as a Slytherin. Then again, this was _Potter _he was dealing with. He hated Potter.

Finally, he had actually _saved _a shipload of people from sticky and gruesome deaths. Did this make him some kind of hero? Certainly not. And his name, in _Witch Weekly! _Since when had he become a national celebrity?

Things were _happening _that he was not quite sure he liked. He actually thought that _Granger _was prettier than Hilda, which was understandable, except that before this he had believed that _everyone _was prettier than Granger. Exempting the time she had dressed up for the Yule Ball, of course, but that incident was not of consequence.

Yes, many unexpected things were happening that Draco did not like at all.

* * *

Hermione filed into what looked like a large study, Harry by her side. On the left the Beauxbatons group was draped elegantly yet primly over the sturdy furniture. They reminded Hermione of a painting right out of eighteenth century France. To the right, Krum and his crew were chatting in low, deep voices, but they looked up as the Hogwarts' Ambassadors entered. They had all seemed mistrustful of each other since earlier in the afternoon. 

It was nine o'clock or so. From the window at the far side of the room, cold moonlight filtered through the frosty windowpanes.

Malfoy took a seat on a couch next to Fleur. It was a small couch, and they were closer together than Hermione believed was necessary.

"Now that you are all settled," Igor Karkaroff said from the front of the room, "we can discuss the Advanced Study Courses you will all be taking. I, too, wish that you had merely come to relax, but these courses will prove very efficient in developing teamwork and trust between the Ambassadors of different countries. You will be split into five groups, and each group will take a separate course. There will be three Ambassadors in each group. The courses will be self explanatory, meaning that you will not receive instruction from a professor. You will merely be given a set of instructions, and asked to complete the course in a designated amount of time. These courses are difficult, mind you, and will probably take a good deal of your time every day."

Draco rolled his eyes, and Hermione shivered with excitement.

"There is a catch," Karkaroff continued. "You will not be placed in the same group with anyone from your own school. There will be one Ambassador from each school on a team. With that said, let us assign courses."

Next, he pulled out his wand, and with a flick fifteen small slips of paper had appeared on the table.

"They are charmed so that you cannot draw someone from your own school. Come, now, and choose."

Krum was the first to stand up. He pulled out his wand and Accio-ed the nearest slip of paper to him. Everyone else followed his lead, Ginny and Ernie Accio-ing the same slip of paper. It whizzed back and forth before landing dejectedly between them.

Hermione opened her own slip and saw a clear roman numeral 'II' written on it. She glanced around just in time to see Fleur looking up.

"Who 'as 'II'?" Fleur said lightly, holding her slip. Hermione's mouth dropped open in shock. _No. This is not happening. _

"Harry," Hermione said urgently. "Can we trade?"

Wordlessly, they traded slips, and Hermione opened her new one, relieved. To her absolute horror, there was a roman numeral 'II' written boldly across it.

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances.

"They're charmed," Hermione whispered with a stricken look. Resigned to her fate, she stood up and walked over to where Fleur was sitting.

"Two," Hermione said firmly, putting her hands on her hips.

Fleur's eyes narrowed, and she quickly looked away. Suddenly a large boy with dark features appeared in front of them.

"I vill be on your team," he said, his voice deep as he held out a slip of paper, "I am Ivan."

"My name is Fleur," the part Veela intoned, sticking out her hand to the dark-haired boy. "It is a pleasure to meet you." She smiled beautifully.

"I'm Hermione," the other girl said simply, nodding her head. "Nice to work with you."

Hermione looked around and saw that other groups were forming. Harry had been grouped with Myra and Hilda, and looked content. Ginny was standing near Franz, another boy from Durmstrang, and Jaime, the French Ambassador. Ernie, Iva, and Michael all stood around the main table, shaking hands. Hermione's stomach dropped as she realized that there were only a few people left. Renae, the red-haired girl from Beauxbatons, looked unreasonably upset. Hermione followed her gaze, and found out why. Draco and Krum were glancing disbelievingly from their slips of paper to one another.

"Oh, _no,_" Hermione said aloud. "This is beyond ironic."

Krum threw his slip down vehemently and stepped on it, glaring at Draco the entire time. Draco said something softly and smirked. Krum looked about ready to kill him.

_This is going to be a long night, _Hermione thought.

The pairings and courses were dealt out as follows:

Hermione, Fleur, and Ivan were assigned the ancient study of _Anagrams._

Draco, Krum, and Renae had _Trigon Theorem Arithmancy_.

Harry, Myra, and Hilda were assigned _Ancient Relics_.

Ernie, Michael, and Iva had been given_ Weather Manipulation_.

Ginny, Jaime, and Franz had been dealt a course called _Origin of Wizarding Legends. _

* * *

Hermione got out of her own meeting at coincidentally the same time as Draco. Hermione, Fleur, and Ivan had been briefed on their course, which was the ancient study of Anagrams. Though Fleur looked bored and Ivan looked mildly interested at best, Hermione could not have been more excited. 

Krum and Draco had obviously not looked at or talked to each other during the entire meeting.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, laying a consoling hand on Renae's shoulder. Renae, upset with her draw in partners, walked off dejectedly.

Hermione turned to see Malfoy leaning against the corridor wall, arms crossed. He was staring at her with catlike eyes.

"You're sorry that she has to work with Krum?" Draco clarified for her. "So am I."

"You might as well get over your grudge, Malfoy. You'll have to work with him every day if you want to complete your course. I don't know about you, but we've been assigned Anagrams and this course is going to take a great deal of work."

"Oh," said Draco in a noncommittal tone, "we've been assigned Arithmancy beyond the NEWT level . . . Trigon Theorem. Luckily, I've already solved five of the ten major equations."

"You've what?" Hermione asked lightly. She was getting into a bad habit of zoning out during conversations.

"Are you deaf, Granger?" Malfoy asked, looking irritated. "I've solved them."

"You've . . . you've already worked them out, full equations and everything?"

Hermione knew a bit about the Trigon Theorem, and the method behind it was so complicated that it took an entire semester to master. It was used for things as complicated as creating new charms and hexes.

"Well," Draco started, "I haven't written them out yet, but I did them in my head. I'm sure they are correct."

Silence. Then she said, "That's . . . that's . . ."

More silence.

"Stop gaping like a fish, Granger. You look like you've seen the Mona Lisa frown," Draco drawled, obviously amused. He began striding toward the stairs, and seeing as she had no other choice, Hermione followed him, keeping a safe distance behind. It was dark, and no one was around. Draco began ascending the stairs, and Hermione walked quickly, a few steps behind him.

"That's impossible! I don't believe you!" Hermione said, raising her voice a bit because he was farther up the staircase. Draco kept ascending.

"You didn't believe me when I told you Krum was trying to kill us, either," he retorted evenly.

"So?" she was huffing as she trailed up behind him. "For all I know, Malfoy, _you're _trying to kill us! That clever trick you pulled with your arm last night didn't fool me, because I'm not that stupid. And frankly, neither are you!"

They had reached the top of the stairwell, and now stood in the corridor that led to their rooms.

"Are you implying," Malfoy countered, taking a step toward her, "that I am, in fact, smarter than you?"

He made a quick maneuver that cleverly blocked her route to the stairway, and she realized that he was trying to back her against the wall.

"You may be clever, Malfoy," Hermione replied calmly, "but don't be getting any ideas that you are as smart as me."

She stepped deftly around him and he frowned ever so slightly. His back was to the wall and she could tell that he did not like being cornered.

"Check," she said, as if they were playing chess. "I have an inkling suspicion that you've still got something up your sleeve. _Literally._"

"Frankly, I don't care what it is that you think, Granger. But _I _think that you've met your match."

He slid suddenly to the side of her and turned their positions around. Hermione felt her back hit the wall. The sound pealed down the corridor with a sickening thud.

"Checkmate," he whispered with soft malice. He was standing far too close. _I never was good at chess, _Hermione thought absurdly. Her heart was pounding. Was it from fear?

He leaned closer and spoke into her ear. He was so close that his mocking voice tickled the skin on her neck, and she felt suddenly intoxicated. Draco spoke in a clear and icy tone.

"It's amazing how someone who knows so much can _see _so little."

And then he was gone.

((**A.N. **A review would be greatly cherished forever and ever. Next chapter: The situation between Draco and Krum escalates dangerously, the Ambassadors act even more suspicious, and Draco and Harry have a rather promiscuous conversation about licking things.))


	8. Russian Roulette

((**A.N. **Alas, Chapter 8 has come. More Lupin stuff, some Draco, lots of Harry, Krum, and Hermione. The Lupin subplot parts always start off with a fact, and they pick up from whre they left of last time.This fact is really truly actually one hundred percent**a historical fact**so I did my background research. And it _is _related to the story. So now that my rant is over with, enjoy the chapter.))

**

* * *

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**PART I: COME TO ME IN DREAMS**

_Yet **come to me in dreams**, that I may live. _

– _From "Echo" by Christina Rosetti_

* * *

**Chapter 8**; Russian Roulette 

FACT: _King Arthur had a legendary sword called Excalibur. He alone was the only one who was able to pull it from a stone. The sword is rumored to be at the bottom of a lake near the fabled island of Avalon._

Once inside the Pensieve, Lupin felt somehow weightless, as if he was floating. He was immediately aware of being in a forest.

"Do you really want to know?" a voice boomed from behind him. Lupin whirled around and almost yelped at the creature before him. He ha heard of these before. Centaurs. Truly seeing one was so torrentially majestic, however, that he could not believe his eyes.

It was not talking to him, but rather a considerably younger Dumbledore.

"Yes," Dumbledore said quietly. "I wish to know what the stars hold."

"Very well, then," boomed the centaur, "but you make a mistake. Listen, now, Albus Dumbledore. Listen to the prophesy of your _people_."

And then . . . a song, a flash, a _dream._ And within it were words like thunder.

"Buried under myth, legend and lore strong as stone lays the object that will inevitably become the one that the world seeks. It will be your salvation, and ultimately, your downfall. It will be your one saving grace, and ultimately, it will be the knife in your back. It is the bane of the once and future king. The fate of your race hinges on this one illusive object. The one who will find it is he who sets with sun, and rises with the moon. He will be the last of the four, and it is he who possesses the power to shake the stone foundations on which the earth was built."

Suddenly the centaur turned his gaze directly on Lupin. _Impossible! _Lupin thought. _I cannot be seen. I am not really here!_

"**_Starlight shines on the eye."_**

THAWM.

Lupins feet hit the firm ground of Dumbledore's office. He looked at Dumbledore, wild eyed, and Dumbledore answered the unasked question.

"A prophecy, Remus. Nothing more and nothing less. A prophecy about _you._"

Lupin felt the world shake under him.

"Albus, this is impossible."

_So very many things about this day have been impossible_, Lupin thought. He sighed.

"Let me humour you, Albus,"Lupin said dryly. There were seldom few who spoke to Dumbledore in such a fashion and got away with it, but Lupin was one of them. "Let me assume that this whole situation isn't a joke from you, or a scheme employed to divert us from what Voldemort is _really_ doing. Let us pretend for one absurd moment that there _is, _indeed, some long lost relic that holds the fate of the world in the balance, and that Voldemort is actually _searching_ for it. I'll humour you a bit more, Albus, and pretend that the person whom the centaur was talking about was _me, _and not the last of the four _founders _or something ridiculous like _that. _Now, even if all of that is true . . . impossible, as I said before . . . are you saying that you expect me to find this object without so much as a single clue! That is madness."

Dumbledore's lips twitched ever so slightly. "Always the practical one, the logical one, weren't you, Remus? And so modest, too. Let us pretend that none of that prophecy had to do with you or was even true. You, Remus, would still be my first choice. You have the magical power of an Auror, the wit of a professor, and the detective skills of a true sleuth. Also, you do have a clue. It was the last sentence in the prophecy. _Starlight shines on the eye. _I believe that is the key to the entire mystery. There was one other reference that may be of use. The centaur mentions the _once and future king. _If I remember correctly, this is the message that was supposedly inscribed on King Arthur's grave."

Lupin looked at Dumbledore and crossed his arms. Despite all the impossibilities of the situation, the academic in him was acutely interested.

"What do you say, Remus? A riddle that no one but you can solve? Five words that unlock a thousand-year mystery? An ancient relic that will eventually destroy the world?"

Lupin sighed. "I'd say you're a few sandwiches short of a picnic, Albus."

Then he smiled.

"I'm in."

* * *

"Anagram," Hermione said aloud. "Noun. 'A word or phrase formed by transposing the letters of another word or phrase.'" 

She copied the formal definition down, aware that she would need to use it later. She knew a little bit about anagrams. They had been used in ancient times very frequently as codes and secret messages. They were also extremely difficult to spot, unless you had a trained eye for them. Sometimes even the greatest puzzle solvers did not . . . understand . . . _Malfoy _. . .

Her mind wandered helplessly.

Hermione simply could not understand what had happened the night before. She was profoundly confused. _What game is Malfoy playing at?_ He had seemed dangerous and sly, like tasteless, senseless poison in a goblet of wine. It seemed as if he had tried to give her a veiled warning.

_It's amazing how someone who knows so much can see so little. _

What had that meant? Was she missing something that was right in front of her eyes?

She had always seen Draco Malfoy as a spoiled, cowardly, and arrogant boy. Now she realized that he was far cleverer than she had ever given him credit for. She had completely overlooked the one thing that everyone else did not even bother to notice. It was also the thing that had gotten him into Witch Weekly.

It was his unmatched ability to act.

Draco Malfoy could flounce into a party and instantly become the center of attention. He could befriend the boys, charm the girls, and impress any adults in the vicinity, all without lifting a finger. _It would be so easy to fall under his spell, _Hermione thought. At the same time, he could cut people down so mercilessly that it left them wondering if he had a heart at all. He talked about Arithmancy homework one moment, and had transformed into an icy and powerful enemy in the next. Draco Malfoy was a bundle of contradictions.

The question remained. Which one of these was his true personality? Was he the merciless tyrant, the charming Ambassador, or the subtle assassin? Was he somehow all of these?

Was he any?

It was in this way that Malfoy ceased to be the one-dimensional little boy she had always hated, and in Hermione's perception, gained complexity.

She still hated him of course, only now on multiple levels. Hence, she was disappointed when she stepped out on the balcony. She had been hoping to see the sunset, but a dark figure shot soundlessly across the yellow-orange sun.

It was Malfoy, of course. Who else? And where had he gotten a broom?

He landed before her in a flash. She shielded her eyes.

"Granger," he drawled knowingly out of the side of his mouth. "I see that you have come to watch me fly about on this terribly dysfunctional broom. Have you joined my fan club?"

Hermione frowned in a vaguely haughty manner.

"As shattering as this undoubtedly is to your pathetically fragile ego, I came out to watch the _sunset, _not you. And where did you get that broom?"

"From Krum, of course," Malfoy said pleasantly.

He did not seem fazed in the slightest by Hermione's disbelieving expression.

"I nicked it from his common room today while we were working on that blasted project. I think it's one of his old ones, though, and it pitches to the left."

He took off with another word, soaring graciously into the sky. Hermione found herself, contrary to her words, watching him instead of the sunset. The broom swerved dangerously toward the coast. _Perhaps I just want to see him smash into those cliffs, _she thought wryly.

He landed back on the deck in a flash. Everything was softened by the golden light around them. He smirked.

"You're still watching me, Granger."

She rolled her eyes. "Sod off, Malfoy. Don't you have a girlfriend to go write to or something?"

"A girlfriend?" he responded in a philosophical tone. "I've never had a girlfriend."

Hermione looked at him disbelievingly for the second time that evening.

"Malfoy, girls hang all over you! It's disgusting, actually. You have de-virginized half the girls in our year, and you can stand there with a straight face and tell me that you have never had a _girlfriend?_"

His lips had quirked into an amused smile. "'De-virginized' isn't a word, Granger. And I mean _girlfriend_ in the sense that I buy her chocolates and flowers, we take long walks on the beach, and hold hands in the corridors . . . I'm just not that kind of guy."

Hermione nodded. "So in other words . . . you are a _player._"

"I do confess to being a quidditch player," Draco said lightly, cracking a grin.

"No. Shall I spell it out more clearly? You're an arrogant, lying, two-timing imbecile! You drop girls like quaffles when you're through with them."

"Hm," said Draco, his voice contemplative. "I don't know if we should delve into love lives, Granger, since yours would be most easily described as 'nonexistent'. Oh, wait . . . I forgot . . . you and Potter are shagging each other, aren't you?"

Hermione seemed incoherent with rage. Finally, "Harry and I ARE NOT TOGETHER!"

"I think you _are_ having sex with him. There would be no other reason for the famous Harry Potter to hang around with a Mudblood, bushy-haired, self-righteous hag like you."

Draco looked cool, calm, and dead serious in the evening afterglow.

"I hate you, Malfoy!" Hermione said viciously. "I don't feel one bit sorry for you, even though I should. Your life is _pathetic_. If I had a father who was a faceless pawn for Voldemort, a mother that was on at least three types of antidepressants, a hugely over inflated ego, and a band of friends like the cretins you have, I would have killed myself long ago. Do us all a favor and kill yourself, would you? _It would save Harry the work_."

He looked completely thrown off guard. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, she rushed off the balcony in a blur.

* * *

Twilight had fallen as Draco heard a knock on his door. He had been alone, for once– he neither knew nor cared where Macmillan was– and groaned as he sat up. He wrenched open the door, expecting Weasley or some such riffraff. The girl on the other side _did _have red hair, although it was not Weasley. 

"I thought this was your room," Renae, the French Ambassador, intoned in a haughty voice. She pushed past him rather rudely, and Draco frowned as she strode boldly into the center of his room. He was not used to being treated in such a way.

"What do you think you are doing?" Draco asked indignantly as he followed her into his own room.

"Looking for . . ." her eyes lit up, "these."

At first Draco could not see the object she had picked up, due to the waning light. He finally identified it as the Arithmancy papers that Karkaroff had given to him.

"We're going to work on these tonight, you know. I don't care if my teammates hate each other. We are going to finish them, and we are going to get a decent mark. Now don't just stand there gaping. Come _on,_" she finished.

Mouth indeed agape, Draco followed her out of the room. He noticed that her accent was different from that of the other French Ambassadors. _Come to think of it, _Draco thought, _she barely sounds French at all. _Any rose-colored visions that he'd had of soft, feminine French girls disappeared immediately.

Draco had no idea how she knew where she was going, but after descending a few levels, they arrived at an ample wooden door. Renae rapped on it impatiently.

"Where are we?" Draco asked, as a growing sense of foreboding consumed him. She did not reply.

A Bulgarian boy answered the door and stared at them blankly.

"I am an Ambassador," Renae said imperiously, "I wish to speak to Victor Krum."

The boy disappeared, presumably to retrieve Krum.

"Are you crazy?" Draco asked, lurching forward to whisper to her.

"Yes," she answered promptly, "but not nearly as crazy as you for stealing one of Krum's brooms!"

"Stealing!" he sputtered. "I did not steal Krum's–"

He cut himself off as he became aware of Krum standing in the doorway.

"Care to finish za sentence, Malfoy?" Krum asked pointedly.

"Not particularly," Malfoy muttered, crossing his arms.

The two boys stared daggers at each other until Renae spoke.

"This is it, you two! Put aside your hate because we are going to finish this project!"

Malfoy had raised a lazy finger in the air.

"Yes?" she snapped.

"I already finished them," Draco said blankly.

"You . . . you did?" She uttered, and opened to the pages that she had not bothered to check. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"There wasn't exactly a chance," Draco pointed out, raising his eyebrows.

Krum, on the left, was fuming.

"Zat is impossible! Give those to me!"

He wrenched the papers out of Renae's hands and rifled through them, his expression becoming darker and darker.

"They must be wrong," he said dangerously. "They are all wrong."

"And how would you know?" Draco sneered icily. "You don't have enough brain cells to form a coherent sentence, much less decipher Trigon Theorem equations in Advanced Arithmancy."

"I can too!"

"Don't strain yourself, now," Draco continued with mocking concern. He sneered rudely at Krum. "You might lose a brain cell, and then the amount of brain cells you possessed would be cut in half."

Krum glared, obviously angry.

"That would leave you with only one," Draco elaborated helpfully, "just in case you can't do that math either."

At first Draco assumed Krum was about to leap at him, but Krum roared, and quickly disappeared through the doorway. Wordlessly, Draco and Renae followed.

Krum stormed over to a blazing fireplace, and promptly threw the papers inside, watching the flames engulf the parchment with a look of savage satisfaction.

Renae gasped in surprise, but Draco was obviously the more dangerous of the two. He seemed to have gone beyond anger and into a cold, gripping rage. This was good for neither Draco nor Krum.

"You," Draco said softly, icily. Then he continued in a calm and controlled monotone, "You cocksure, Bulgarian, neanderthal, unibrowed _asshole. _If I was inclined to, I swear that I would rip your throat out with my bare hands."

Krum suddenly smiled, a bright and sharp and cruel smile. "I have a game zat you and I vill play. I am sure that you vill like it."

There was a vaguely desperate, maniacal expression on Krum's face.

"I don't want to play games," said Draco slowly, "I want to see you die a slow and painful death."

"Oh, but that is just it," Krum said happily. "I do not know if you have ever heard of za game. Za Muggles have a special name for it."

"And what . . . is that?" Draco intoned after a few moments. Krum looked positively malicious.

"Russian Roulette."

Draco had never heard of it.

"As much as I would _love _to play a Muggle game with you, Krum, I can't help but think that hexing the shit out of you would just be _so much _more fun."

"No, Meester Malfoy. You vill like this game very much, I am thinking. Follow me."

Frankly, Draco was tired of people telling him to follow them. Nevertheless . . .

* * *

Draco found himself in a deep and foreboding underground room. It was dimly lit with old-fashioned candles, and the walls were pure black marble. A round table was the only piece of furniture in the room. 

Krum and Draco stood on opposite sides of the table and commenced in glaring at each other.

"Rules," said Krum loudly, and simultaneously slammed his hand down on the table. Apparently this was some kind of magical activator because a circular rotating device appeared in the center.

"This is the Russian way of solving a feud. There are six guns spinning around this rotator," Krum announced quietly, "and one of them is loaded."

Renae, who had followed them, gasped. She promptly scampered out of the room. Draco and Krum scarcely seemed to notice.

"Ve each pick a gun, and point it at each other. On three, ve shoot."

"And what if you shoot before three?" Draco asked maliciously.

"Zey are charmed so that they vill not go off until your count reaches three."

They were silent for a moment, and there was only the sound of the whirling metal rotator.

"You know what?" Draco replied. "I'm actually _that _desperate to kill you."

Krum smiled sinisterly. "I thought so."

Draco thought about it for a few moments, and realized that he actually did not care whether he lived or died. What was there in the world for him? A life of being controlled by Voldemort? No, it would not worry him to risk his life. If Krum died, it was worth it.

"This vay," Krum said quietly, "no one can say that you murdered me, or that I murdered you. In picking up za guns, ve both make an oath that ve are willing to die."

Draco nodded.

The rotator abruptly stopped. "Your pick," Krum said emphatically. Draco slowly reached out his hand, and twirled the rotator so that the gun that had been directly in front of Krum was in front of him. He lifted it out carefully. Krum picked what seemed like a random gun. Then they stared at each other, identical maniacal expressions on their faces.

"On three," Draco said quietly.

"One . . . two . . . _three._"

Draco aimed his gun directly at Krum's heart and pulled the trigger. There was a bang, but when Draco had opened his eyes he observed that Krum was still standing there staring back at him stonily. Had _he _been shot?

But they realized that the bang had come from the door crashing open. Harry flew in, wild eyed, with Renae close in tow.

"Don't shoot!" he cried desperately.

"We already have," Draco replied offhandedly. He pressed the trigger again for good measure, and nothing happened.

"Unfortunately, neither of us picked a pistol that vas loaded," Krum explained, looking disappointed about it.

Harry, who was shocked and angry, picked a gun at random from the rotator. Looking defiant, he pressed the trigger. A small explosion occurred, and a bullet flew into the wall. Harry stumbled back, ashen face.

"Though apparently _that _one was," he said, appearing squeamish.

"Do you realize that there was a one third chance that _one _of you could have just gotten _killed?_" Renae cried shrilly.

"You're right," Krum replied gravely. "I should have loaded more than one gun."

"What were you thinking, Malfoy?" Harry asked, apparently still in shock. "I mean, I wouldn't have minded if _you _had died, but you could have killed Krum!"

"I'm touched by your concern, Potter," Draco drawled, not looking bothered in the least that he could have died, "but that was kind of the point . . . killing Krum, I mean."

"I am leaving," Krum announced abruptly. He commenced in stomping out of the room. Renae had obviously had enough also, because she haughtily followed him.

Harry stared and Draco for a few seconds longer before speaking.

"Not only are you an unbelievably humongous prat, you're suicidal too."

"I'm not suicidal, Potter," Draco said wearily. "It's just that my hate for Krum rivals even my disdain for you."

"You have a lot of enemies," Harry pointed out, crossing his arms.

"You know what, Potter? You have no tact whatsoever, and no class either."

"I have way more class than you," Harry said lightly.

"You're brave, I'll give you that, Potter. But you're also inconsiderate and reckless and self-centered. Where I come from, that does _not _give you class."

"Right, because where you come from, class is defined by _money _and _blood. _I haven't had any of that given to me in my life. I haven't even had parents . . ."

"Do _not _give me this whole 'I'm an orphan and therefore you should take pity on me' spiel because you know what, Potter? I _don't_ feel sorry for you. Success is defined by what we _make _ourselves, so don't–"

"And this coming from a boy who has had his whole life handed to him on a silver platter? You shouldn't be talking, Malfoy."

Draco's eyes glittered dangerously. "You think my life is easy? I would not make assumptions like that if I were you, Potter."

"You're not me."

"Thank _Merlin _for that," Draco replied immediately, "but I am beating around the bush. The point is, I am not going to lie down and lick your boots like everyone else just because you're Harry _Potter_ and you're _famous. _Got that?"

Harry's eyes were suddenly alight with surprise. Malfoy had actually said something Harry had been wishing to hear for as long as he could remember.

It was as if people did not ever see Harry Potter. Instead they saw The Boy Who Lived, who was this ethereal, legendary hero right out of a storybook. He was noble and loyal and chivalrous no matter what, and the most important thing was that He was never afraid. The Boy Who Lived had to be treated with the utmost caution and respect. Sadly, even Ron and Hermione saw him as this _hero, _to some extent. They asked him constantly if his scar hurt and were often afraid to stand up to him. The Boy Who Lived loved this special attention. Harry Potter, on the other hand, felt as if he had arisen to such a legendary status that no one saw the most blaring fact of all. The Boy Who Lived was only _human. _

And that was all Harry was to Draco. A normal human with normal faults. He was not even a human that Draco particularly liked, but to Draco he was a human all the same. And being seen as a flawed human was in many ways better than being seen as a legendary hero.

"I . . . never asked you to lick my boots, Malfoy," Harry said. It came out more gently than he had meant it to. "And besides, it would be rather disgusting if you did."

There was an acid remark ready on Draco's tongue, but recalling the task Voldemort had given him, he quelled it quickly.

"That's for sure," Draco said wryly, his voice not as cold as usual.

Harry realized that it was the first time he had ever talked to Malfoy without wanting to ring the other boy's neck.

"I'm out of here," Harry said finally. "This place isn't exactly uplifting, if you know what I mean."

He turned around, messy raven hair gleaming in the dull light as he stalked away.

Draco, after a few moments, followed. Had he seen a tiny rift in Potters' high and mighty facade? Had Harry let his act slip, after all of these years? Or had that crack always been there, and was it merely Draco who had never taken time to notice it?

Whatever it was, it did not matter. All he had to do was make sure that Harry trusted him by November. It would be easy to fool the boy, because one of Harry's greatest shortcomings was that he trusted wholeheartedly, and he accepted without asking too many questions.

It was Granger we would have to watch out for, in the end. She was far more perceptive than he had ever imagined. Perhaps he could get her to fall under his spell also.

He smirked, and he was lucky that there was no one around to see him. His eyes glistened as maliciously as the tip of a glass blade.

Fooling the poor morons would be so much more fun than Draco had ever imagined.

* * *

_He was there, again, in the sunset. His face was framed in an otherworldly halo of silver strands, so contrary to his vicious personality. It simply was not enough to describe him as beautiful. He reminded her most of a glass dagger; it was aesthetic and alluring and flawless, but when you touched the blade, it made you bleed, and cry out in shock and pain._

_He was there, again, in the sunset, and his eyes were liquid mercury._

"_You're still watching me, Granger," he had said._

_And the words 'Sod off, Malfoy,' had been on her lips, but they would not come out. Instead, she had raised her eyes to his._

"_I know," she had said softly. Grey and honey brown seemed to meld together flawlessly, and suddenly she longed for a thing that was unspeakable._

_In a flash he had bridged the gap between them. His face had come closer, closer . . ._

* * *

And then she woke up to the voice of Harry, who was shaking her shoulders and telling her that it was morning, Hermione, get out of bed already. 

Hermione was groggily drudged back into reality, the dream dissolving as quickly as mist. She did not remember it.

Five minutes later, while brushing through her unruly hair, she had gotten the sensation that one often feels when recalling a dream. It came in a rush, all at once, sound and color and emotion, but faded away before she could grasp it. Imprinted in her mind was the feeling of softness and the dimness of a sunset and a timeless shade of grey.

Pity she could not remember what the dream had been about.

* * *

_The silver dragon loomed closer. Draco saw a pain in its eyes unmatched by anything he had ever known. _

_The intricate wings beat mightily in the wind, and it opened its mouth to breath a flame on Draco. The flame would doubtless incinerate the boy and everything around him._

_He had nothing to combat the flame, and the only item that he held in his hand was, ridiculously, a mirror. _

_He held the mirror up to block the flame, and could see his own reflection. He felt the heat engulf him, and watched his own reflection slowly melt. _

Draco woke up with a gasp. Unlike Hermione, he remembered the dream, and it disturbed him greatly. Something about it had been too real.

He lay back down, but sleep, in all its cruelty, had decided to evade him from the remainder of the night.

((**A.N. **Yeah, so... give me a review or something. Next chapter: the Ambassadors take a trip to a bar and sing a little karaoke. Nope, I'm not even kidding.))


	9. Roman Rendevous

((**A.N.** Chapter 9, folks. Hope you enjoy it and have a happy Halloween.))

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* * *

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**PART I: COME TO ME IN DREAMS**

_**Come** back **to me in dreams**, that I may give_

_Pulse for pulse, breath for breath_

_Speak low, lean low_

_**. . . my love . . . **_

– _From "Echo" by Christina Rosetti_

* * *

Chapter 9; Roman Rendevous 

"Well," said Ginny, who was lounging on the bed opposite of Hermione's, "it says here that we're leaving at seven for a night on the town."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "What's the point of this, Ginny?"

"C'mon, Hermione, it will be _fun. _We'll get to see a quaint Bulgarian village and have a night away from . . . studying."

The younger girl faltered as she remembered that Hermione _liked _studying.

Hermione merely rolled eyes. "All right, then, if you insist."

Ginny's face lit up. "In that case, we'll have to dress up– it will be _so _much fun!"

Hermione gave the other girl a look that suggested she was pushing her luck. "Ginny, it says here . . . _casual dress . . ._ nothing about dressing up."

"That's a load of rubbish!" Ginny intoned. After taking notice of Hermione's stern face, she said, "Oh, Hermione, at least look _polished _for a change, not as if you've thrown on the first thing you picked up."

Hermione only scowled, but Ginny did not stop pestering, so at last, she gave in.

This was how the two girls became immersed in trying on different outfits. At last Ginny found a crimson halter-top that showcased her slim neck under a cashmere jacket tied at the waist with a thin ribbon.

Hermione, opting for a more practical solution, had decided on a rich brown, form fitting turtleneck, and a black skirt. Her shoes were slightly heeled, though Ginny claimed that they made Hermione look much taller. Ginny had later performed Make-Up Charms on Hermione as well as herself, to the older girl's continuous whining. Then Ginny stepped back and looked at her work. She realized that Hermione could easily be one of the prettiest girls in Hogwarts, if she tried. Of course, she never _did _try, and that was what was so wonderfully refreshing about her.

Ginny checked her watch and announced that it was time to meet with the boys. They left Ginny's room for their usual meeting place on top of the stairs. Harry and Ernie were already waiting, and looked sharp in jackets and trousers.

"What's the occasion?" Harry asked Hermione, his eyes twinkling as he saw her.

Hermione smiled mysteriously. "I can dress up once in a while if I feel like it, can't I?"

She gave Ginny a wink, and the redhead rolled her eyes.

"Where's Malfoy?" Ginny asked, a hint of disdain and wariness evident in her voice.

Ernie frowned. "He hasn't been around all day . . . I saw him rush upstairs to get ready a few moments ago, though."

"Well, that prat had better show up soon, or we're leaving without him," Harry said flatly. The others nodded in agreement, but to their disappointment, Malfoy promptly appeared from around the corner. He narrowed his eyes, as if Harry's presence personally affronted him.

"You're all here. Hasn't one of you managed to fall off of a balcony or crash into a cliff or, Merlin forbid, throw yourselves valiantly in front of some helpless kitten like the forlorn heroes you are?"

Harry smiled a bitter smile that did not reach his eyes. "We weren't so lucky, I'm afraid. How are you doing, Malfoy? Have you sold your soul to the devil yet? Oh, wait," Harry continued in a falsely pensive voice, "you _are _the devil. In that case . . . have you made any profits lately off of all those innocent souls? Oh . . . wait . . . it's not like you need the money. I suppose you'll have to settle for mercilessly torturing a few Muggleborns, then. Pity."

Draco apparently did not find this funny at all. They walked down the stairs, and would all be happy to get away from each other.

* * *

Dinner was held at a reasonably pleasant restaurant, but Hermione was anticipating their visit to the Bulgarian village most of all. 

After they had all finished dinner, Krum announced that the village was in walking distance and that it was a 'nice' night out.

As they went outside, the cold bit into Hermione's flesh unexpectedly. She sucked in a breath, rubbing her mitten-clad hands together. Her cheeks were tinged pink, and she smiled and laughed as Harry tried in vain to brush the snowflakes out of his dark hair. She did not have any idea how beautiful she looked.

It was snowing ever so lightly, the kind of snow that looked like cotton. Draco walked ahead of Hermione and Harry, with Fleur by his side. Fleur shivered, and Hermione watched as he casually put an arm around her shoulders. He smiled, and Hermione would not have been surprised if the world had stopped to watch him. With little flecks of snow dotting his silvery hair and his eyes gleaming like starlight in the darkness all around, he could have been an angel, no more than a dream in the desolate cold.

_Not a dream, _Hermione reminded herself, _but a nightmare. _

They topped the peak of a hill, and below them spanned the glimmering Wizarding Village. It was something right out of a picture book; the peaked roofs topped with white icing, the bright windows like twinkling jewels. People bustled along the cobbled streets, shopping and talking and laughing. The group's spirit seemed to rise as they entered the village. It was little piece of paradise, or a preservation of old beauty in a world becoming modern too quickly.

They descended further into the center of town. Most of it seemed charming and quaint, but the farther they walked, the more rundown the houses and buildings seemed to become.

"You do not vant to walk these streets alone at night, Hermioninny," Krum intoned sagely. "The Bulgarian Mafia patrols this area regularly, amongst other petty criminals. It is not a good idea."

Krum stopped at one of the larger buildings. Hermione could hear the mingled sounds of talking, music, and laughing wafting from behind the door.

"Ah!" the man at the door exclaimed, upon recognizing Krum. "Victor, my friend! Ve have not seen you in a long time! Still a famous international figure, I see. And who are all of your companions?"

"Zese are Ambassadors from Britain and France, along with a few of my own friends. And here . . ." Victor paused, and grabbed Harry's arm, "is Harry Potter. He is one of za Ambassadors for Britain."

"Harry . . . Potter?" the man stuttered, shaking Harry's hand ferverently. "Why . . I vill never see anything like it again . . ."

"Nice to meet you," Harry said politely, trying not to wince as the man attempted to break his wrist.

"Go right . . . on in," the man said at last, looking dazed, and understandably as if he did not believe his eyes.

Hermione caught up to Krum as he strode inside.

"Where are we, Victor?" she asked.

"Ve are at za favorite bar and concert hall of Durmstrang school. I think that before ve go to France, I must show you some _real _Bulgarian fun!"

An explosion of sound hit her ears with full force. A live band played on stage, and boisterous laughter sounded from the tables, which were strewn around quite randomly. It was immediately over crowded, and she was jostled by a rowdy group of men. She almost lost sight of Krum, and grabbed onto his arm to steady herself. She did not see Draco's eyes narrow dangerously at Krum as the Bulgarian boy smiled. They somehow managed to find a long table to sit at, with a bartender behind it.

"I think you vill like this place, Hermoninny," Krum said over the roar, "they have something that I believe you call karaoke. "

Harry sat down firmly next to her, looking slightly disoriented. The bartender approached them.

"What would you have?" he asked.

"Butterbeer," Hermione said quickly. She craned her neck to gaze at Draco, who was also ordering a butterbeer. She turned back around to see a butterbeer in front of her.

"A firewhiskey, please," Harry said to the bartender. Hermione watched as he took his cup and gulped half of the liquid down. She leaned over and spoke in a low voice to him.

"Honestly, Harry! I don't know if you should be drinking. We're in kind of a shady joint . . . besides, there could be press around here somewhere."

"Screw the press," Harry said, rather uncharacteristically. "And besides," he continued, raising his glass, "when in Rome, do as the Romans do."

He tilted his head over toward Krum and his friends, who were roaring with laughter and guzzling beer. Harry gave her a maddening smile as he used her own logic against her.

Hermione's attention was then diverted to Fleur , who was apparently throwing a fit because they 'didn't serve champagne!'

"What do you expect in a low class place like this?" Hermione heard Draco say loudly. Krum heard this, of course, and his eyes flashed contemptuously toward the Slytherin.

Ginny appeared suddenly, a drink in her hand.

"Karaoke!" she squealed at Hermione and Harry, her eyes sparkling. "How interesting! I can't wait to see who performs!"

Hermione and Harry laughed, and Harry took another gulp of firewhiskey. Hermione pursed her lips before smiling ever so slightly.

"Oh, give me that!" she said, grabbing the drink out of Harry's hands.

Harry looked disappointed, until she raised te glass to her lips and took a swig herself. She could have sworn Harry's eyes almost popped out of his head. Then he grinned. "If only Ron were here to see you!"

"Speaking of Ron," Hermione said, turning to Ginny, "he told me you didn't drink!"

Ginny winked. "I do now," she said over the din. Then she waltzed off into the crowd, most likely trying to get a closer view of the stage. Hermione looked over to see Ernie arguing loudly with Renae, and almost out of habit, looked for Draco. His seat next to Fleur's, however, was empty. _Where has he gone?_ Hermione thought with a pang of a dark omen.

"I'll be back. I'm going to talk to Fleur," Hermione said to Harry. Harry raised his eyebrows, but nodded as she strode off. She tried to contort her face into some semblance of politeness as she approached Fleur. She sat down in Draco's seat, and Fleur turned to her with cold eyes.

"Have you seen Ma . . . Draco?" Hermione asked, catching herself in the middle of the sentence. "I'm not sure where he went."

"Do you 'ave to know where 'e is all the time?" Fleur said haughtily. "Zat eez a bit nosy, if you ask me."

"It's none of your business," Hermione retorted, rather more rudely than she had meant to. The two girls looked at each other with copious amounts of dislike.

"Well, one of you is going to have to move," came a voice from behind them. It was Draco, and he looked vaguely amused. She wondered briefly how long he had been listening. "I'd say it would be you, Granger, since you've stolen my seat."

Grudgingly, Hermione moved, but a girl had gotten up from the seat next to them, so she simply scooted over.

Draco sat down, and their attention was drawn to the stage, where a host announced the most anticipated entertainment of the night, and mentioned that karaoke would begin in a half hour. The band entered to wild cheering, and scantily clad dancers took the stage as the band started playing. Hermione rolled her eyes.

Draco looked at the dancers speculatively as he raised his glass to his lips. He leaned low to whisper in her ear, and she fully expected a rude and uncouth comment about the show.

"See that dancer up on stage, Granger?" Malfoy asked softly, pointing out a girl near the center of the group. The dancer was twirling and dipping with flawless elegance. Hermione nodded curtly, raising an eyebrow. Draco continued, "Learning the dance routines was easy, but I'll bet you that the hardest thing to teach her was not to let that smile slip from her face. Ever."

Hermione glanced up at him and frowned. It was something she had never picked up on, but nevertheless it was something that was very true. Dancers, no matter how panicked or perturbed they were, _always_ smiled. It was the thing that made them so wonderful to watch. They were the ultimate actors. How had Malfoy realized that?

A hand suddenly clamped down on Hermione's shoulder.

"Hermione!" Ginny said, giggling like a little girl. She swayed slightly, obviously drunk. Harry was behind her, looking as if he also had consumed his fair share. "Guess what?" Ginny babbled. "Harry and I are going to join the karaoke competition!"

"Oh, Ginny . . ." Hermione started, "I don't know if that's a . . ."

She was cut off as another hand clamped down on her shoulder. This time it was Draco.

"We may have a slight problem, Granger," he said as he nodded over to Ernie. The Hufflepuff was talking loudly and seemed to have attracted a large crowd. Some looked as if they liked what they were hearing; others were cracking their knuckles. Ernie had scarcely noticed and continued to address the crowd with numerous hand gestures.

"We should stop him," Hermione decided quickly, but someone was tugging at her sleeve.

"What song should we sing, Hermione?" Harry asked, slurring his wordsslightly.

Krum suddenly burst through the crowd, the other Bulgarian Ambassadors closely behind him. Hermione felt trapped in a mass of moving bodies.

"Hermioninny!" he said loudly. He threw an arm around her shoulder. "You look upset! What is wrong?"

His face was too close to hers. His breath smelled of alcohol, and the music blared in her ears. There was a distant pounding noise that grew louder. She realized it was the men banging their glasses on the table. Her head began to spin.

"Nothing's wrong with her, you big oaf," Draco said, his temper obviously on a short leash, "we just have a situation to deal with right now."

Krum's eyes darkened as he glared at Draco, and some of the bystanders moved closer to Ernie, looking angrier than ever. The tension in the building seemed to escalate.

"Do not presume to insult me here, Meester Malfoy. You have picked za wrong crowd to do so in."

"What are you going to do?" Draco asked cooly, raising an eyebrow. "_Shoot_ me again with a gun that isn't even loaded?"

Krum looked angry, and he dislodged his arm from Hermione's shoulders. Draco had just insulted a tradition that was very close to Krum's heart. Krum had reached boiling point.

"I am tired of you, Malfoy," Krum intoned. "I think it is time you learned your place."

He slowly drew his wand.

"You don't like what I'm saying, huh?" Hermione heard Ernie yell aggressively.

"I'll give you one shot," Draco said, "until I hex you straight to hell."

"No–!" Hermione started, but Krum leapt at Draco, and a flash of light lanced from the tip of Krum's wand. Draco dodged it, but it smashed into a table behind him, and there was a loud crash and shattering of glass. This seemed to simultaneously set off the group of men surrounding Ernie, and one of them landed a solid uppercut into Ernie's jaw. He flew backward into a woman, and she screamed. What followed was complete pandemonium. Spells flew every which way, glass shattered, and people pushed relentlessly forward to see what was happening.

Her scream lost in the clamor, Hermione leapt into the fray, searching for either Krum or Draco. She had to break them up. She found Draco, but not before a spell flew past her and ripped her shirt down the front. Nevertheless, she grabbed the back of Draco's coat with both hands, and gave and enormous tug. He staggered backwards. She grabbed his wrist, along with the collar of his jacket, and relentlessly dragged him away. He was so surprised that he did not protest.

When they reached the closest exit, Hermione wrenched open the door and jerked him outside. Once in the frosty night, she slammed the door shut and released his coat violently. He staggered back, thrown off balance, and smashed into the alley wall with a thump. It was immensely silent outside compared to the din of the bar. They were both breathing heavily.

"What were you _thinking, _Malfoy?" Hermione roared angrily.

"Hey! Krum attacked _me!_" Draco pointed out defensively.

"I don't care!" Hermione bellowed angrily, stomping her foot on the ground. She missed Draco's quickly masked smile. "I am sick and tired of you immaturity. Do you have _any idea _what will happen if this gets out? We are supposed to be _Ambassadors, _Malfoy, not drunks who get into bar fights. Now I want you to go back in there _right now _and apologize to Krum."

Draco looked at her as if she were telling him to take food from needy orphans in Tibet.

"You've got to kidding me," he said, soft malice evident in every syllable.

He whirled around and began stalking down the alley.

"Where are you going?" Hermione yelled after him, uncertainty in her voice. She raced to catch up with him.

"I don't know about you, but there is no way I'm going back in there. I would rather spend my night alone than with The Quidditch Star From Hell and a bunch of drunk Gryffindors."

"You're drunk too!" Hermione insisted. She had seen him drink just as much as Harry, if not more.

"Difference between Potter and me is that a can hold my liquor–he can't. So, no. I am not drunk, Granger. Now why are you still here?"

"I'm not going back in there either," Hermione announced rather haughtily. "I don't even _want_ to sort out the mess inside."

They strode along in silence after that. Hermione realized that they were not in a very high-class part of town. Homeless beggars clutched cheap cups, and drunks and shady looking Bulgarians passed by. Hermione shivered despite herself, aware that her shirt was ripped in all the wrong places. A few men leered rudely at her as they strode by.

Draco, looking weary, shrugged off his jacket and held it out to her. He did not even bother to glance in her direction. "Take my jacket, you filthy Mudblood."

"No," Hermione said uncouthly, stepping away from his proffered hand. "I'm not putting on anything you have touched. What is this, some kind of joke? When was the last time you offered to help me out?"

He let out a sigh of frustration. "For Merlin's sake, just take the bloody _jacket, _Granger!"

"No, I think I'll pass on touching your disease-ridden jacket, thanks."

"So I suppose that you like all of these men goggling at you as we walk by?"

"You were goggling, too, Malfoy!" Hermione accused in an exasperated tone.

He rounded on her then, eyes alight with anger and some other emotion. "And so what if I was?"

She was momentarily speechless, and her cheeks reddened.

"You . . . you're . . . you're supposed to _hate _me!" she finally managed. It sounded absurd even to her own ears.

"Oh, but I do hate you, Granger. I hate _you. _I _hate _you . . . and don't you ever think differently. Now stop following me. Maybe if you're lucky you'll make it back to Durmstrang without getting jumped, but in this part of town . . . I doubt it."

She gaped at him in disbelief, but with a malicious glance, he tossed her his coat and stalked off. This time she did not follow.

((**A.N. **Next chapter, there'll be hangovers, paparazi, McGonagall screaming, rabid fangirls, some snogging, and a couple more evil plots.))


	10. Cathedrals and Consequences

((**A.N.** Chapter 10. Alas, we come to the last chapter in Part I of this four part story. It might be a while before I update again because me and my beta don't have all of Part II done yet. This chapter starts off with a bit of Lupin's story and then goes back to our Ambassadors. At last, some snogging, but not between who you think! ;D It's also time to respond to my reviewers, so here goes.

**Anuksunamun-Kalia: **Haha what IS it with guys when they drink? Glad you liked it so much...!

**Stasya: **You think my writing has improved through the chapters? Thanks!

**Fantsticarla**: The line you mentioned in your review definitely demonstrates the paradoxical personality of Draco Malfoy. ;D

**dumblydoor: **You're too kind.:D I always love your reviews.

**Snow Mouse: **I didn't know you weren't allowed to have karaoke on the site... huh, good thing I didn't put any actual singing in. OO

**Meeko313: **You can't wait for everyone to go to Hogwarts? They will goin Part III, after they're done with France... ;D

**screwtheperfectlife: **Here's your update.

**steffy potter: **Your reviews always make me smile.

**Le Noir de Adhara: **I do love bar fights in D/Hr fics... there's something about them that just goes so well together...

**ebtwisty9: **It's only going to get better, and weirder...

**-i-like-pears: **I will most definitely keep updating. I'm just worried about how often I'll be able to keep updating...

**jjp91: **Yes, you read it correctly. Rabid fangirls. Enjoy.

**ANGEL xx: **Drunk people do rule don't they? So many funny situations to get them into...

**rockrockrock: **Yes you're very perceptive Indeed... where DID Draco go?

**ali-lou: **You want D/Hr? You are going to get so much D/Hr you'll be stuffed full of it by the end of this story... but there's beauty in taking things slowly, no?

**Alaksandra: **There's more on the karaoke this chapter.

**CareBearErin: **You're so right. They are all "definitely screwed" and more so than you're thinking... yes it is kind of ironic that Hufflepuff was the first one in trouble, but Slytherin wasn't far behind. ;D

**HgBookworm: **What a mess, you say? Things are going to get so much messier before we're done!

**EquestrianBabe: **You know, you're the first one who has told me you're enjoyng both the Lupin plot and the Ambasadors one. I'm really glad to hear that because both plots are equally important to the story. :D

**Hawkgal: **At last, I have updated!

**-Lacus-Serenity-: **I'd be happy to. :)

**Ali: **Not just any reviewer, but my first reviewer. My beta, my editor, my muse, the girl who thinks of everything I cannot. Thank you!

That's all, folks, enjoy it!))

**PART I: COME TO ME IN DREAMS**

_Come to me in the silence of the night; _

_Come in the **speaking silence **of a dream;_

_Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright_

_As sunlight on a stream;_

_Come back in **tears**,_

_O memory, hope, love . . ._

_O dream how sweet, too sweet, too** bittersweet**,_

_Whose wakening should have been in Paradise,_

_Where souls brimful of love abide and meet;_

_Where **thirsting longing eyes**_

_Watch the slow door_

_That opening, letting in, lets out no more._

_Yet **come to me in dreams**, that I may live . . ._

_**Come back **to me in dreams, that I may give,_

_Pulse for pulse, breath for breath,_

_Speak low, lean low,_

_. . . **my love **. . ._

– "_Echo" by Christina Rosetti_

* * *

**Chapter 10**; Cathedrals and Consequences 

FACT: _In Malory's retelling of his life, King Arthur had a son named Mordred._

Lupin walked purposefully into the library of magic the next day. Dumbledore had sent him on a wild goose chase for a long lost relic, and he only had one clue as to where it could possibly be hidden. On top of that, he was racing against the clock to discover the items whereabouts before an evil megalomaniac seized it and destroyed the world.

_An average day in the life of Remus Lupin, _he mused thoughtfully.

_Starlight shines on the eye. How completely random is that saying?_

His first task was to look up any poetic or biblical references to the line. It was highly doubtful, but it was worth a try.

Lupin cross referenced 'starlight' and 'eye', and came up with a few poems and novels. He began searching the sturdy oak shelves for the books he had referenced, and he dragged them all to a discreet table. He smiled as remembered that he was on a top secret mission to save the world. It would not do to have anyone see him.

Sipping coffee slowly, he poured over the tomes and documents, finding nothing. He nearly spewed coffee all over a priceless manuscript as he read the words on the page.

_So softly comes the demon's cry,_

_So clearly sounds the mortal's sigh._

_Upon the brink of death, we all doth stand,_

_**Salvation and destruction**, hand in hand. _

_Her curtain of tears, her silken hair tie,_

_Do not soften her screams, we do not ask why._

_The **snake** in her hand, as it slips to the ground,_

_The fall of her chest, it does not make a sound._

_The veil of **stars** has drawn to a close,_

_The **pillar of stone**, and the **crescent** it sows._

_She slips to the earth, and slowly we die._

_Starlight shines on the eye, starlight shines on the eye._

There it was, at the end of the poem, repeated twice in the exact form it had come to him. _Unbelievable, _he thought. It was, however, anonymously signed, and said Circa 535 AD.

He looked back at the poem, and noticed two things about it immediately. It was almost a veiled foreshadowing. _Salvation and destruction, hand in hand? _It sounded vaguely familiar to something in the prophesy. In fact, it was startlingly similar.

Secondly, some of the words had been inexplicably underlined, and not by the original writer. The ink looked fresh in comparison to the worn writing; it was not more than a week old. The words were _snake, stars, pillars of stone, _and _crescent. _

Lupin frowned. There was an inexplicable riddle behind the poem, and a nameless someone had already figured it out. But who was clever enough to do it? No doubt it was one of Voldemort's followers. The question remained; who?

He had to solve the riddle, and fast. Someone was already way ahead of him.

He thought about the Centaur's mention of the _once and future king_. This was quite obviously a reference to the legendary King Arthur. He tried to think of objects associated with King Arthur. The Holy Grail, which had supposedly never been found, and of course Excalibur. Lupin recalled that Arthur had supposedly puled Excalibur from solid stone. Were either of these the objects aforementioned?

_This poem must have to do with that sacred object. _He read it over twice more, and he realized that he did not have the lightest notion as to what it meant. He closed his eyes, and slowly he stood up, straightening his glasses. He had been reading for an hour, almost, and he needed a break.

He decided to explore the library, and wandered complacently among the dusty shelves. Lupin had always felt at home among books, and he let his eyes idly scan the titles as he strolled by. Suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks, eyes riveted on a book title that consisted of one single word. The word was the answer to all of the questions. He fit it in with the evidence, piece by piece, and suddenly it all made sense. _Veil of stars . . . crescent pillars of stone . . . crescent moon . . . starlight shines on the eye. _

At the same time it was utterly impossible. This was the craziest notion he had come up with in years.

_It has to be . . . it all fits too perfectly, _he thought.

Remus Lupin had just discovered the location of the relic, and even Dumbledore would laugh at this idea.

It turned out that the poem was a set of instructions that lead straight to the object.

The one word title of the book Lupin had glanced at was _Stonehenge._

* * *

Hermione awakened to a pounding on her door. 

"Urgh," she said groggily, trying in vain to rouse herself from sleep.

The pounding did not go away. She staggered up and threw a robe over her nightclothes. Rubbing her puffy eyes, she wrenched open the door. A house elf stood on the other side, looking terrified.

"Being sorry to wake you, Miss, but Igor Karkaroff sends you an urgent message," the house elf squeaked, handing her the letter. It bowed, before scuttling quickly away. Hermione shut the door, and checked her wristwatch irritably. It was seven in the morning. What did Igor have to say that possibly could not wait until afternoon? Tearing the letter open, she glanced over at Harry, who was sleeping so heavily that he had not budged from the pounding on the door. _He is not going to be happy when he wakes up, _Hermione thought wryly.

Contrary to Draco's doubt that she would make it back to Durmstrang unscathed, Hermione had managed to get safely out of the bad part of town with a _Confundis _Charm, which diverted attention away from her and made her as good as invisible.

The letter read:

_Dear Miss Granger and Mr. Potter;_

_Please inform the other Hogwarts' Ambassadors that you are scheduled to depart from Durmstrang to Beauxbatons tomorrow morning at nine o' clock sharp. Your Independent Study courses are to resume at Beauxbatons, but the first semester's work is to be completed by tomorrow_. _Proper attire is required for tomorrow evening's Introduction Ball, and I have allotted a few hours this morning for you all to go to the village to purchase formal wear. Please be downstairs by nine. I hope you have enjoyed your stay at Durmstrang, and we will be pleased to see you again._

_Sincerely,_

_Igor Karkaroff_

_Wow, _Hermione thought, _our time here has gone by too quickly. Between that catamaran ride, these semester projects, and last night, it seems like we have only been here for a few hours. _

She puzzled over the 'formal attire' note. They had not needed anything formal for Durmstrang, so why would they need any for Beauxbatons?

She sighed and realized that she would not be able to go back to sleep. Besides, she had to wake the others for shopping. Hermione crossed her arms. Shopping was tedious in her eyes, but Ginny would probably be jumping at the chance to go.

She glanced over at Harry, who was still fully clothed from the night before. She had not heard him come in, which meant that it had been very late. She herself had not gotten to sleep until one thirty in the morning. Hermione decided that there was no need to wake him. He would have a sufficiently large hangover when he woke up, and he would not be in the mood for shopping.

Instead she showered, changed into a beige pair of trousers and a dark blue blouse, and headed for Draco and Ernie's room.

She knocked on the door once, and there was no answer. A muffled groan sounded from within when she banged on the door harder, followed by, "Answer the sodding door, Macmillan."

Ernie opened the door a crack and saw that it was Hermione. He opened it further to reveal a disgruntled Draco, sitting on the edge of his bed and holding his head.

"What do you want, Granger?" Draco asked rudely. "It's far too early to look so cheerful."

Hermione did a double take, and was actually kind of infuriated about how good Malfoy looked sitting on the edge of his bed, hair rumpled horribly, sharp features even more defined due to his hangover . . .

It was making her mad. Even in the morning, when every other human being looked as if they'd been dragged through a carwash, Malfoy seemed roguish and rumpled and _why _in the world was she wasting her time thinking about the boy?

"Your coat, Malfoy?" Hermione answered sardonically, holding out the expensive jacket. Ernie took the coat and threw it unceremoniously at Draco.

"Karkaroff sent me a letter about an hour ago informing us that we'll be leaving for Beauxbatons early tomorrow. We need formal attire for some fancy dance tomorrow night, so we're supposed to go shopping for our clothes at nine."

She noted with some interest that Ernie had a swollen lip and a black eye. She thought it was probably better not to ask.

"Nine?" Ernie said. "We'll be down in a half hour or so."

"We will?" Draco asked ruefully. He had bags under his eyes and looked extremely tired.

"Good, then, I'll see you down there," Hermione said to Ernie, deliberately ignoring the other boy. Draco looked less than pleased at the situation, and was about to protest.

"And," said Hermione, by way of goodbye, "you might want to do something about that black eye."

She winked, touching her own eye, and Ernie brought his hand to his face, looking surprised. She made her way down the hall to Ginny's room.

Once again, she knocked. Once again, no answer. This time Hermione simply tried to open the door. She suspected it was unlocked. Unsurprisingly, it opened, and Hermione stepped inside. Ginny lay on her bed, sleeping as soundly as Harry. Feeling particularly bothersome, Hermione flounced over to the window and flung the blinds wide open. Frosty, blinding white light streamed onto Ginny's face, and she stirred slightly and groaned.

"Wake up!" Hermione chirruped in her most cheerful voice.

It is rather annoying to be woken up by a glaringly cheerful person, but far more annoying to be woken up by a glaringly cheerful person when one has a hangover. Ginny, scarcely able to open her eyes to the light, fixed a glare in Hermione's general direction.

"No need to be angry, now," Hermione said, maintaining the sickening pleasantness.

"Oh, Hermione . . ." Ginny groaned, clutching at her head, "what did I _do _last night?"

"I haven't the slightest idea," Hermione said without an ounce of sympathy, "though last I heard you and Harry were going to sing a bit of karaoke!"

Ginny's eyes widened comically and her face went a nasty shade of green.

"We are supposed to go shopping in about an hour," Hermione said lightly.

Ginny turned even greener, and rushed to the bathroom. Hermione covered her ears as she heard a rather unpleasant gagging sound. Ginny stepped back into the room a few moments later, and this time she was white.

"I don't think I'm in any shape to go downstairs, much less go shopping."

"All right, then. I'll pick out a dress for you."

Ginny looked horrified, but Hermione had already gone out the door.

She went downstairs to find a lovely breakfast buffet waiting. It was a Saturday, and few students were up at such an early hour. She poured herself a delicious, steaming cup of coffee and added rich cream. She breathed it in, and the scent was unbelievably wonderful. She sat down at a table, crossing her legs contentedly and sipping in peace.

A package dropped rather suddenly next to her, and an owl landed along with it. Startled, she realized that it was only her Daily Prophet. She had wanted to keep up with the news in Britain while away, so had asked the editors to forward it to her in Bulgaria.

She paid the owl, and began to unroll the paper. When she saw the front picture, she blinked.

She blinked again.

Then she screeched.

Hermione was not the Screeching Type. The Screeching Type of girl was closer to Lavender or Parvati or Pansy.

But Hermione did, indeed, screech.

The few students in the hall looked at her funnily, and then muttered about _The British._

"_Harry Potter gets Groovy with Ministry Official's Daughter."_

That headline alone was enough to alarm her considerably, but the picture splattered across the front page was, if anything, worse. Harry and Ginny stood atop a bar table, apparently singing some sort of karaokee duet with one another. They were dancing boisterously to what looked like a variation of the tango. The most surprising thing of all was that the people around them were cheering wildly.

"I'm going to bloody _kill _him," Hermione said, with feeling. She stared openmouthed as Picture Ginny stumbled and Picture Harry caught her in his arms. They had been completely smashed.

"Kill who?" asked Ernie, who had apparently just come in with Draco. He looked tired, but had returned to his normal, finely groomed self. They sat down casually. Wordlessly, Hermione handed the paper to Ernie.

He scanned it, but showed little surprise. "Wow . . . they actually made The Prophet?" he said at last, looking impressed.

"You _knew _about this?" Hermione asked wildly. "Why didn't you tell me!"

"Slipped my mind," said Ernie with a shrug. Draco took the paper from Ernie, and wrinkled his nose before speaking.

"The Prophet must be getting really desperate if they're running a front page story about Potter singing _karaoke_."

"Oh, this paper will sell out in London, I'll assure you of that," Ernie said enthusiastically. "The Prophet is genius to run this story."

Hermione had apparently gone into a state of mild shock.

Ernie took the paper back from Draco and began reading it.

Presently one of the Bulgarian Ambassadors, Ava, stalked up to their table. She was a small, dark girl, and seemed the exact opposite of the other Bulgarian Ambassador, Hilda. Hilda was fair skinned and blonde, and wore her hair in pigtails with red ribbons. She was often sighted wearing a blue dress to match her light blue eyes.

Ava, on the other hand, had classic Romanian looks. She had a dark, thick brow that protruded immensely, and full, pouty lips. Her hair was short and straight, and her eyes were nearly black. Presently, she sat down opposite of Hermione.

"What is vrong with Hermione?" Ava asked Draco, her accent thick.

Draco shrugged, his eyes flashing coldly toward Hermione. He was apparently still angry about the night before.

"Where are the others?" Draco asked.

Ava smiled, and her face was dark and sultry.

"They vill not be coming shopping, fortunately for you. It seems I am za only one that doesn't have a splitting hangover."

"Ah," said Draco in a knowing voice. He silently thanked whatever God ruled over them that Krum was not coming.

"Oy, Malfoy," Ernie said from behind the paper. "Look at this! A bloke from Hogwarts by the name of Blaise Zabini has gone missing! Do you know him?"

"What!" yelped Draco, grabbing the paper out of Ernie's hands for a second time. "Yeah, I know him alright. His father and my father are good friends."

"Well, he has been missing for about two weeks . . . since the beginning of term, come to think of it," Ernie noted, confused.

This piece of information seemed to jolt Hermione back to life. It made very little sense to her. Why would the Pureblood son of a prominent family suddenly disappear? Voldemort certainly was not behind it. If that was the case, though, then who _was_? The second oddity was that he had been missing for two weeks, and yet the Prophet had not bothered to report it until today. That, or the possibility that someone had been trying to hush it up, and had paid The Prophet off.

Myra and Jaime arrived promptly, with reports that the others were for whatever reason incapable of going shopping.

"Fleur told me to ask you about your independent study course, though. She said that you had better finish the last anagram, because it is due tomorrow."

"Oh!" exclaimed Hermione, jumping in her seat as if electrified. She missed Draco roll his eyes. "I thought Ivan had been assigned that one. Oh, dear."

There were certain methods to cracking anagrams, and Hermione found that the more anagrams she solved, the easier it got to spot them outright. This one would still take a great deal of work, however.

"I can help, if you'd like. I do love a good riddle," Myra said with a wink.

"And she eez good at zem, too," Jaime said promptly. "One of ze most brilliant students in our school, no doubt."

Myra flushed red and denied this, but Hermione had an inkling suspicion that it was true.

* * *

The carriage ride to the village was nice, since there were only six of them. Hermione had time to get to know the others better. 

Myra was charismatic and gorgeous, but in the very opposite way that Fleur was. Fleur was all light beauty, laughter, sparkle, and charm. Myra, on the other hand, with long raven hair and red lips, had quiet elegance and undeniable class. Sometimes she seemed withdrawn, however.

Jaime was a nationalist, and took great pride in his French heritage. He was intelligent, obviously, but reminded Hermione of someone right out of the Eighteenth Century.

Ava had a dangerous wit, and frowned far more than she smiled. She had taken a liking to Draco, though, and seemed content around him. Hermione could not begin to fathom why. She purposely kept her eyes away from Draco for the majority of the ride. She saw only silver flashes out of the corner of her eye, and was tempted to turn her head every so often.

They arrived at last, and began shopping. It was primarily uneventful, save that they had all accumulated too many bags at the end, due to their absent friends. They ended up levitating the bags with their wands, but Ernie tripped over his and stood up haughtily, his face an indignant shade of red.

They were walking back to the carriage, in fact, when they heard an obvious snap behind them. Draco, who had been laughing at how ridiculous Ernie looked in his new dress robes, had heard someone laughing along with him. When he realized it was Hermione, he stopped abruptly.

Hermione whirled around in time to see a dark figure disappear around a corner. She turned around quickly, and felt uneasy.

"Keep walking," she said in a low voice to the others. "I think we're being followed."

"What . . .?" started Ernie, but she shook her head and began deliberately walking forward. The others followed, extremely confused. Ten steps later, another click sounded, and this time they whirled around fast enough to see the flash of a camera, the face of a journalist. Hermione tilted her head to the left ever so slightly, and behind a carriage, another shadow disappeared. As she glanced around indiscreetly, she noticed more and more of them. Ridiculous as it sounded, they were being followed by the paparazzi!

"We need to get out of here," Myra was the first to say. "Everyone split up, and zey will not know who to follow. Jaime and I will go that way, Ernie and Ava can go left . . . and Hermione and Draco can go right."

Because of their flawless public facade, Myra did not know of their hateful rivalry, and was oblivious to the annoyance that flashed through both pairs of eyes.

"Come on, then," Hermione intoned bossily, motioning for Draco to follow. Wearily, Draco took off after her.

"Granger, look, I–"

"Don't talk to me, Malfoy. Not here. Not now. Not a word."

Despite their brisk pace, Draco saw a few black shadows out of the corner of his eye. Why did they want pictures of _him_?

He nearly ran into Hermione because she had stopped abruptly in front of him. She was gazing up at a tall building, which was grand and had a steeple.

"Yes . . ." Hermione mused, obviously to herself, "not even _they_ would . . . yes! C'mon, Malfoy."

She grabbed his wrist, and he jolted slightly at the contact. Oblivious, Hermione tugged him up the steps. She pushed open the door and quickly slipped inside, so Draco followed. What he saw inside was unbelievable.

"Granger," he said loudly, "where are w–"

She rudely clamped a hand over his mouth. "Shut it, Malfoy."

It was like nothing he had seen before, and the things that stuck out to him the most were the windows. They were large and opened to the sky above, but they had been stained in every color, from crimson red to royal blue to sunset gold. The effect was unreal. Sunlight streamed in through the frames, and the light was stained in rainbows. The very air seemed to sparkle around them, and with every step it seemed as if Draco was moving into a pristine dimension of light.

The next thing was the music. It was so pure and celestial and heart wrenching that for the first time in a long time he felt sadness, and, inexplicably, joy. The music seemed to be coming from everywhere, because the people all around him, sitting in wooden isles, were humming.

Hermione guided them to a seat near the back, looking impatient. How could she be impatient? At the head of the building stood a man clothed in white robes. Behind him were flickering cans of incense, and candles that cast a warm, sinewy glow around the room. The ceiling was high and domed, and arched gracefully over their head. It was covered in colorful and fanciful murals.

The room was more magical than any other place Draco had ever been, and he had never seen anything like it.

"Where are we?" he whispered, eyes wide.

"We're in a Muggle church, Malfoy. This is where they worship a Muggle God."

Draco's mind reeled. _What? _He had just thought that it was one of the most magical places he had been, and yet it did not contain an ounce of magic. What new kind of sorcery was this?

"You mean to tell me that _Muggles _built this?" Draco asked, awestruck.

Hermione gave him a strange look and nodded. Lucius had always told him that Muggles were completely worthless, and Draco had wholeheartedly believed his father. After all, what did Muggles have that Wizards did not have more of? What did Muggles create that Wizards did not create more efficiently?

But this, this beautiful, everlasting sanctuary in a world growing uglier and darker every day, was something Draco knew even Wizards could not rival. That only left one barrier in his mind.

"But . . . that is impossible. Whoever built this church was obviously intelligent and Muggles certainly aren't _intelligent._"

He said it as if it were absurd, as if it were unthinkable that Muggles possess coherent thought.

Wearily, Hermione said, "Malfoy, have you ever _met _a Muggle?"

He thought back. "Well . . . no."

She turned to him and shot him a look that clearly said _point proven. _

* * *

A few hours later, after the Ambassadors had successfully escaped the press, the five Hogwarts students were lounging around in Ernie and Draco's room. Draco was quite unhappy with the situation, and sat in a corner finishing (more precisely, refinishing) his Arithmancy problems. Hermione lounged on one bed, and Harry sat at the foot of it. Ginny lay on the other, and Ernie was sprawled in an armchair, tired from their expedition. Harry had laughed when he had heard of the predicament. 

"I feel like some movie star blown way out of proportion. It's ridiculous, really. We're just a bunch of kids, our lives aren't that interesting," Harry had said with a laugh.

"Not at all," Draco said sardonically from the corner. "Just a Ministry Official's daughter, the smartest student in the top school in Britain, the sole heir to the largest fortune in the Wizarding world, and the boy who is the one salvation of the human race. Not to mention that we're all foreign dignitaries and the relationship between our countries depends solely on how we speak and act. _Of course _the international spotlight is going to be cast on us, you moron."

"Speaking of responsibility," Hermione put in quickly, "Malfoy, you have been very rude to Krum. I want you to–"

But they never found out what Hermione wanted Draco to do, because the window shattered.

There was a mad flutter of wings, and at least five owls shot in. The one they noticed immediately dropped a steaming red envelope directly in front of Harry.

"Oh no," Harry moaned, "it's from McGonagall."

"Open it," Hermione said ruthlessly.

He did.

"HARRY POTTER!" it screamed. He clutched at his head. He had been feeling marginally better, but McGonagall's angry voice made him feel three times worse.

"IN THE SEVEN YEARS I HAVE BEEN HEAD OF YOUR HOUSE, I HAVE _NEVER _BEEN SO ASHAMED OF YOU! YOU WERE DRUNK AND SINGING KARAOKEE ON TOP OF A BAR TABLE! YOU SHOULD KNOW BETTER! THE PRESS IS HAVING A FIELD DAY WITH THIS IN BRITAIN! YOU HAVE EMBARRASSED HOGWARTS AND YOURSELF."

It went quiet and Harry sat in stunned silence, his head throbbing worse than ever.

"GINNY WEASELY!" it started up again. They all screamed and threw their hands back over their ears.

"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH YOU HAVE EMBARRASSED YOUR FATHER! CAN YOU IMAGINE WHAT PEOPLE ARE _SAYING?_"

Ginny looked greener than ever.

"DRACO MALFOY!" Draco, who had been grinning fiendishly for the majority of the time, felt his face fall.

"YOU GOT . . . INTO . . A BAR FIGHT . . . WITH _VIKTOR KRUM!_ I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY TO YOU. I WILL ALLOW SEVERUS TO DEAL WITH YOU WHEN YOU RETURN."

Draco, too, looked slightly queasy.

"ERNIE MACMILLAN!"

They all cried out in agony. "Make it stop," whispered Harry.

"I WOULDN'T THINK YOU WERE ONE TO PICK FIGHTS WITH COMPLETE STRANGERS! I EXPECTED BETTER OF ALL OF YOU. I WISH I COULD PORTKEY YOU ALL BACK TO SCHOOL THIS INSTANT BUT THERE IS TOO MUCH AT STAKE. I EXPECT BETTER OF YOU FROM NOW ON. DO _NOT _PUT ONE MORE TOE OUT OF LINE!"

It exploded in a burst of red light.

"Oh," moaned Harry, clutching his poor head.

Ginny, with shaky fingers, tore open a letter addressed to her.

_Ginevra Weasley,_

_The only reason I didn't send you a Howler was because McGonagall took care of that. I want you to come how right now, but Dumbledore forbids it. You are in trouble, young lady. You have disgraced your father, and disgraced yourself even more. There will be consequences when you come home._

– _Your Mother_

"Why did we do it?" Ginny asked Harry, shaking her head.

There was another letter, addressed to both Ginny and Harry. It was from Fred and George.

_Harry and Ginny,_

_We heard what happened, and . . . you two are bloody brilliant! Props on that wicked tango! It seems like you two will be in the news for a while. We're going to take a leaf out of your book, and make Dancing Doogies! When our customers eat them, they will start tangoing like you two did! We're out!_

_Diabolically,_

_Gred and Forge_

"Oh dear," Ginny said quietly.

Draco had received an envelope embossed in silver letters, and he knew it was from his father. As he opened it, a picture tumbled out. His eyes opened wide.

It was a picture of Draco and Hermione, standing side by side with identical smiles on their faces. They appeared to be _laughing_. He flashed back to that morning on the street when he had stopped laughing because he had realized Hermione was laughing with him, and recalled the snap they had heard behind them. Someone had taken a picture. A short note accompanied the picture.

_11:00 tonight. Be there. _

Draco sighed, crumpled the paper up, and threw it in the fire. The picture, he slipped into his coat pocket.

* * *

By dinnertime, everyone looked and felt better. Franz insisted that they all go to dinner at his favorite restaurant for their final night at Durmstrang. 

They found themselves, much to Hermione's relief, outside of a large and well-lit building. She strode in with the others, and did not notice Draco grab Harry's shoulder to hold him back.

Draco stared at Harry disconcertingly, with unmoving eyes.

"Listen, Potter. I think you've made a big enough prat of yourself lately. Here's some advice; don't drink anything."

"Malfoy," Harry said quietly, "I'm not going to drink anything for the rest of my _life _after last night."

Draco smirked. "We'll see about that."

Harry turned and walked inside of the restaurant. Draco followed. He always did.

Dinner had been moving along well, until they had finished the main course. Harry was really starting to like the others. They all seemed like wonderful people. The only person who seemed uncomfortable was Michael, the boy from Beauxbatons. Harry watched his eyes carefully, and it was almost as if he was trying not to meet Fleur's eyes. Strange, if nothing else.

"Excuse me!" said a voice from behind Harry intrusively. He suddenly had a Bad Feeling.

He turned around to see three girls that were about his age, staring at him with abandon.

"Are you . . .?"

Here it came. After the inevitable question had been asked, he would answer, 'Yes, I am Harry Potter,' and he would show them his scar. They would commence in staring at the mark in morbid fascination.

"Are you that boy that was singing karaoke last night? And is she . . ." the girl pointed excitedly at Ginny, bursting with glee, " . . . is she the girl who was dancing with you?"

Harry practically fell out of his chair with surprise. He realized that the whole restaurant had gone silent; they were waiting for his answer.

"Erm . . . well . . . yes," he answered reluctantly, seeing no way to deny it. The people in the restaurant broke into strained whispers. Many stood up to get a closer look, and he watched in horror as many of them searched frantically for quills and paper.

The three girls looked at each other and squealed in glee.

"You were brilliant! And too sexy for words!" one said finally.

Harry choked. The situation was becoming more embarrassing by the moment.

"Waiter!" he said desperately, throwing his hand in the air in a breakneck attempt to get the waiter's attention. "Check, please!"

He turned a glare onto Draco, who was sniggering with mirth at Harry's predicament. If he did not get out of there soon, he was sure an autograph mob would form.

"Go ahead, Potter," Draco said through his mocking laughter. "I'll take care of the bill."

Harry grabbed Ginny's hand and dashed out, just as the girls had found a few quills for autographs.

As the cold hit Harry's face, he felt his burning cheeks cool, and turned to Ginny. They looked at each other and both burst into laughter.

"We weren't _that _good, were we?" Ginny asked through her smiles.

"I don't remember," Harry confided helplessly, and they started laughing again.

He could not remember a time when he had felt the freedom that welled within him now. He had always been weighed down by _expectations. _Everyone expected their hero to have a certain pious code of conduct that he simply no longer wished to follow. He did not care what people thought of The Boy Who Lived, for once. He had spent the entirety of his life trying to be noble and chivalrous and unblemished, and now, at last, he felt as if he did not have to live up to that perfection. Harry was not perfect. He was human.

He was flawed.

And maybe he finally felt free because he was in a strange country where people did not expect so much of him, but he had an inkling suspicion that it was something else entirely.

The laughing stopped suddenly. Why had he never seen the way Ginny's cheeks turned red and highlighted her freckles in the cold? Why had he never noticed the flecks of gold strewn like firelight in the rivulets of hair that cascaded so softly around her face?

He felt himself moving closer, wrapping his arms around Ginny's waist, moving swiftly onto terrain that he had never traveled.

Their lips met soundlessly, and the last things he saw were the snowflakes clinging to her lashes. He felt her mouth open under his, and she tasted like cinnamon and perhaps chocolate, although he could not fathom why. Her lips were warm where everything else was cold, and soft where everything else was solid. He pulled her closer, and could feel a tremor on her lips ever so slightly. Ginny deepened the kiss for a moment, pulling his mouth closer to hers, before breaking away abruptly.

Harry realized that he had been an idiot. He did not know Ginny well enough to kiss her. He had ruined everything. He had acted foolishly on a moment's attraction. What kind of awful person was he?

"Ginny?" he asked softly, trying in vain to still the pounding of his heart.

"Oh, Harry," she said, letting out her breath. "I shouldn't . . . I can't . . ."

"Why not?" Harry asked, a hint of alarm in his voice. Instead of answering, she reached out her hands and took his carefully.

Her eyes in that moment reminded Harry of someone else's eyes that he knew. They looked too burdened for a girl so young and beautiful.

It did not take him long to realize that they reminded him of the ones he saw every time he looked in the mirror.

* * *

Draco checked the clock by his bedside and noticed it read five minutes to eleven. He slipped out from beneath the sheets, fully clothed. He tiptoed over to his dresser and opened the jewelry box. He did not want to wake Macmillan; if he did wake the boy then he would have to perform a memory charm, and he did not want to do that. 

Draco touched the pendant, and felt a jerk at his naval. The world twirled, and he closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he was again at the Malfoy Manor, in one of the various Sitting Rooms. Lucius sat in an armchair, and turned his head lazily as Draco entered.

"Come here, boy," Lucius uttered casually. Draco stood in front of his father. Without warning, Lucius stood up and backhanded him across the face.

Draco reeled back from the unexpected blow, his sharp intake of breath less from pain and more from shock. He brought his hand to his cheek and saw blood. Then he remembered that his father always wore a bladed ring, and often used it to hit servants or house elves. He had never used it on his own son.

"Two hundred Galleons," Lucius said with icily contained rage. "That is the amount I had to pay the photographer to keep that picture out of the paper. Explain to me how a photographer got a hold of my Pureblood son laughing casually with a Mudblood girl."

Draco was almost too shocked to speak. _200 Galleons? _What he could tell his father? That he had been laughing over something as trivial as a new suit Ernie had purchased?

"Befriending Potter has become far more difficult than I believed. In order to befriend him, I must charm Granger also."

"Do not kid yourself, Draco," Lucius said angrily. "I forbid you to make friends with her. If you must . . . convince her . . . take a more direct approach, if you understand what I mean. Women are only good for one thing anyway."

Draco tried to stop himself from gaping. Had his father just suggested he seduce Granger? Impossible.

As if able to read his mind, Lucius said, "You will do whatever it takes to complete this mission, Draco. There are new developments that make your success even more crucial. We have selected a date and time for you to lure Potter away from Hogwarts."

"What's happening?" Draco asked, sensing an urgency in his father's voice.

Lucius paced impatiently. "I am not to tell you. I will say one thing. The wheels have been set in motion for one of the most dramatic revelations in the world . . . and perhaps the one that will be its inevitable end."

"What?" Draco muttered, confused. Lucius whirled on his, eyes glittering maliciously.

"Even _you _will see some surprises in the next few weeks, my son. There will be salvation and there will be destruction, but they will come together like sweet tasting poison. Be ready to lure Potter away, Draco. The wheels are turning."

Lucius paced once more, before waving a hand dismissively. Draco turned to leave, wide eyed. What was all of this about the end of the world? What revelation was to come? What part did Draco himself play?

Lucius had never laid a hand on his son. Draco had known that his father was over controlling and he had known that he was his father's puppet, to some extent. Draco had never thought that his father would strike him down.

Draco abruptly remembered a dream he had once had about a girl holding a snake. It had bitten her, and she had fallen to the ground. The earth had fallen with her, and though she had found salvation, she had condemned the rest of the world to destruction. Was this the type of destruction that his father spoke of?

But it had come to him in a dream. Only a dream.

With dreams his journey had begun, and with dreams it would no doubt end.

**END OF PART I: COME TO ME IN DREAMS**

((A.N. And there you have it, the end of Part I. Okay here goes the corny teaser...Now it's time for Part II, where the Ambassadors travel to France. Murder mysteries, ballroom dancing, intrigue, black pearls, and thunderstorms await them there as meanwhile Lupin comes closer and closer to discovering the truth behind Voldemort's plan. Will Draco ever befriend Harry? Is something wrong with Ginny?What happened to Ron? And why are the Ambassadors all acting so strange? All coming up next episode... I mean, next time, in Part II: The Great Deception.))


	11. Bonjour to Beauxbatons

((**A.N. **Welcome to Chapter 11, Part II. Haha it's been three months, hasn't it? Well sorry about the delay,but Part II is done and I'll update every week until Part III. I hope that Part I amused you a bit, and you got a good idea for most of the characters. Now, as our lovely Ambassadors travel to France, the plot thickens. Enjoy!))

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**PART II: THE GREAT DECEPTION**

_Who would not rather trust and be **deceived**?_

– _Eliza Cook_

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**Chapter 11;** Bonjour to Beauxbatons 

The journey to France had begun.

Sunlight streamed in through the train compartment window, and it was a deceptively lovely morning. Many other aspects of their trip would be riddled with deception. Most of the Ambassadors were journeying to yet another place they had never traveled.

They went again by train, traveling south. As the journey wore on, snow began to melt, and they were reminded that it was only mid-October. The windows stopped frosting up as they traveled farther and farther away from Durmstrang's snowy heights.

Hermione suspected that the train, quite like the Knight Bus, didn't follow conventional roads. Within five or six hours, the train began to slow.

"Hermione!" Harry called, rousing her from her sleep. "Look out the window, Hermione! C'mon, get up!"

As the train chugged to a halt near the station, Hermione, Harry, and Ernie crowded around the window to get a better view. What Hermione saw was far more surreal that she had ever imagined.

It was a stark contrast to the arrival at Durmstrang. To begin with, they had docked at a train station in a busy city. _And what a city it is, _Hermione thought with awe.

Hermione had seen Muggle cities in France, but never a Wizarding city. The first things she noticed were the domed towers that spiraled up into the sky. Their white stems flourished into golden peaks, which glinted fantastically in the midday sun. The entire city, in fact, was a sparkling white, filled with large, airy cobbled streets and grandiose archways. It reminded her of a spectacular Renaissance painting. The city was the epitome of exquisite beauty and unrivaled elegance.

As they stepped off of the train, Fleur took Draco's arm.

"Welcome to ze _Ville de Grace,_" Fleur said, with a smile that rivaled the glow of the city.

Hermione wrinkled her nose. No wonder the Beauxbatons students had found Hogwarts to be ungainly. The air was warm and balmy, almost, as it felt on a tropical island. Indeed, Hermione felt as if she had disembarked onto some illusive island of fantasy.

"We will walk to ze school from 'ere," Fleur announced regally. It was obvious that she finally felt at home.

As they strolled through the sparkling streets, Hermione noticed that some sort of fair was taking place. The streets were lined with myriad booths containing interesting wares, and merchants called out in the clamour.

Hermione was inexplicably drawn to a shaded booth that read 'Tahitian Black Pearls.' A middle-aged woman who was dark and slender tended the booth, and she smiled as Hermione approached. Her breath caught as she saw what lay on the stand. Arranged in various positions were strands of jet black pearls.

"Are . . . are these charmed?" Hermione asked, completely shocked. She had never been one for jewelry, but these were beautiful.

"No," said the woman. "They are true black pearls."

Her voice was deep and sultry, like the jewelry before her.

Draco had come up behind Hermione to inspect the jewelry. He had seen true black pearls before, and these ones looked identical. He was sure they were genuine.

Hermione lifted a necklace that had particularly caught her eye, almost afraid to touch it. Dangling from a delicate chain was a round black pearl embedded in sapphires. The sapphires formed an eight pointed star. It was the darkest, most lustrous object Hermione had ever seen.

"How much?" Hermione asked quietly, afraid of the answer.

"One hundred Galleons, no less," the woman said promptly.

"That's all?" Draco asked in shock. He could have sworn that the woman winked at him after he said it.

But Hermione blushed and replaced the necklace. "Oh, I could never afford that. I'm sorry."

She turned to leave. "Maybe we'll get you one for your birthday," Harry said consolingly, with a nod from Ginny and Ernie.

One hundred Galleons were a drop in the bucket to Draco. He followed them back to the main road. Ava hung back at the jewel stand indefinitely.

They traveled farther through the splendid city, and at last the way opened up into a continuous, broad street.

"Ze castle eez not far," Jaime said smugly. There was a certain aspect in his tone that made Hermione suspicious. They all kept their gazes straight ahead, craning their necks, but there was no castle in sight.

_Beauxbatons must be quite small if we can't see it from here, _Hermione thought. She told them so.

"Our castle eez very large," Myra confirmed mysteriously.

"Is it invisible?" Ginny asked, squinting ahead.

"You can see Beauxbatons Academy from anywhere in ze city," Jaime confirmed. "It eez just ahead."

"But . . ."

"Merlin," whispered Ginny. She looked as white as a ghost and her face was pointed toward the sky.

Hermione looked twice and rubbed her eyes before she was able to believe what she saw.

The castle itself was enough to take anyone's breath away. It was pure white, but the setting sun had stained it a golden pink, and shaded it with sensuous blue and purple shadows. The turrets rose high into the sky, their tops domed and pearlescent in the evening glow. It was humongous, so much that the Ambassadors looked like ants in comparison. The castle seemed to spiral upwards instead of outwards, reaching into the sky to the upper layer of clouds and beyond. All of this went unnoticed compared to the spectacular and unbelievable fact that it was suspended in midair.

The palace seemed to be sitting in the clouds. It was the literal definition of a castle in the sky. White, puffy wisps off cloud skimmed the turrets of the castle, and the castle itself seemed to rest on a bed of luminescent silver clouds.

It was, for the second time that day, the most breathtaking thing Hermione had ever seen. Their eyes were glued to the castle.

"You . . . all live up there?" Ernie asked, blatant awe laced through his voice.

Fleur nodded then, her silver hair flashing in the gold of the setting sun. Fleur looked as if she belonged in the unreal, fantastical world they had so unknowingly entered. Hermione felt as if she stuck out like a sore thumb.

Draco had been taught never to gape at such finery, for the simple reason that it looked second-class if he did. Instead of staring like the rest, he merely turned to Fleur and quirked an eyebrow.

"Are you going to stand there and let them gape all day, or are we going to go up?" he asked sardonically. Fleur laughed at his cultured mentality, and he merely stared back. He _was _shocked at the beauty of the castle, to be sure, and though he had often been admonished for his lack of kindness and of sympathy, he had never been reprimanded for his lack of acting skills.

"We will Portkey up," Fleur asserted loudly, breaking the others from their reverie. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small box. Inside the box was a metal cross. "Eez everyone ready?"

Fifteen hands touched the Portkey one by one, and Hermione felt a tug at her navel. She spun uncontrollably until she landed, dizzy and disconcerted.

"Welcome!" called out a high voice from in front of them. Her words rang through the air like bells.

Hermione glanced up to see Madame Maxime smiling graciously at the group. Hermione was again shocked at the woman's unnerving height. Was it really possible for a person to be so tall? Her liquid black eyes and olive skin gleamed in the adequate lighting. She was, as always, dressed in finery.

"You 'ave finally arrived! We are very pleased to 'ave you!" Madame Maxime cooed in her quaint French accent.

She quickly hugged all of her students; Hermione noticed that she did not go as far as to hug the Durmstrang and Hogwarts students.

"Ah, ze 'Ogwarts' Ambassadors! 'Ow eez Dumbly-dor?" Madame Maxime asked them.

"He's wonderful, Madame," Hermione said with a polite smile. "He sends you his greetings."

"And our burly Durmstrang delegates! I take it zat Igor eez well?"

Something aside from cheerfulness flashed through the woman's eyes as she said it.

Only after greetings and welcomes had been fully exchanged did Hermione take a look around.

High, vaulted ceilings seemed to stretch up into forever. Marble floors below them were veined with authentic gold. Hanging in midair were sparkling chandeliers that twirled around on their own accord, catching the shimmering candlelight in a flourish of crystalline radiance. Outside, all that could be seen was the deepening hue of the cherry sky, and a flurry of silver-streaked clouds. Was there any place more elegant, more grandiose, more aristocratic?

They were led up a sweeping double staircase onto the third floor. When Madame Maxime handed the Hogwarts group eight keys, Hermione frowned in confusion. There weren't even eight Ambassadors; there were only five.

"Five keys are for ze rooms. You each 'ave your own. Anozzer is for ze sitting room, for when you wish to spend time together or entertain guests. Ze ozzer two are to ze bathrooms; one for ze ladies and one for ze gentlemen."

Madame Maxime said these things as if they were obvious and natural. It was unheard of, though, to give mere students an entire eight rooms to themselves.

"Ze entire floor eez at your disposal. Ze Introduction Ball begins at eight. Please be ready as soon as possible. I 'ope everything eez to your liking. If you 'ave trouble, simply ring one of ze Brownies."

"Brownies?" Ginny questioned, confused.

"Zey are servants, little brown creatures that cook and clean," Madame Maxime explained with a smile. "I well see all of you soon."

She departed quickly, leaving five shocked students in her wake. Hermione slowly handed out the keys. Turning the lock to her own room, she diligently tried to keep a squeal from escaping from her lips. It didn't work.

A king-sized canopy bed with silk, champagne colored hangings and a matching silk quilt was the centerpiece of an unbelievable room. She opened a golden armoire to find her clothes neatly hung up and color coordinated. The floor was white marble, with a plush cream carpet surrounding the bed. A polished golden mirror hung majestically on the wall, and she realized that it followed her wherever she went.

Last of all, there was a balcony, her very own private balcony. The door opened soundlessly as she stepped into the sky.

Yes, stepped into the sky. There didn't seem to be a floor. In her excitement she had rushed outside, and now she stood on . . . nothing.

Hermione stomped. Her feet hit firm ground. She had read about these. Quite like the sky at Hogwarts, these "invisible floors" managed to project an exact image of whatever was beneath them.

She screamed, half from fear and half from delight. The sunset with all of its golden hues and the entire Ville de Grace spanned out below her. Railings indicated the place where the invisible floor ended and the sky began. In the distance, the horizon bent out of sight.

From where Hermione stood in the sky, though, the span of horizon that met her eyes was endless.

((**A.N. **Ah . . . a fantastical castle in the sky, an elegant ball, and suspicious characters? What a perfect place for a mu-- but never mind, we'll get to that later. ;D Review!))


	12. Malfoy Manners

((**A.N.** Here's chapter twelve. Thank you so much to all my reviewers and to my beta Ali! Enjoy. ;D))

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**PART II: THE GREAT DECEPTION **

_**Truth** is beautiful, without doubt, but so are** lies**. _

– _Ralph Waldo Emerson_

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Chapter 12; Malfoy Manners 

The bathrooms proved much nicer than the Prefect bathrooms at Hogwarts, which was saying a great deal.

It seemed to Hermione that the Beauxbatons students lived a life of inequitable luxury and glamour.

After thoroughly exploring their new abode, the five students met up in the Sitting Room, which featured an entirely clear wall that allowed them a majestic view of the night sky.

"This Introduction Ball," Harry said at one point. "It seems like a huge, poncy sort of occasion . . . what are we supposed to do?"

"It's nothing, I'm sure," Hermione said quickly. "The ball just has a fancy name."

Draco was staring at the two of them as if they had grown extra heads.

"Nothing?" he echoed faintly. "Have you morons seen anything since we walked into this place? I doubt this ball is a small occasion. Besides, if it's anything like the French Balls my father took me to, you lot are in trouble."

"In trouble?" Harry repeated slowly. "How are we in trouble?"

"Tell me, Potter," Draco began, "do you know the French Waltz? No? The rumba? The two step? The _foxtrot?_"

Harry looked blanker than ever. "I don't dance, Malfoy. I'm an awful dancer."

"We need to fix that in the next two hours, then, because in French Wizarding society, dancing is right up there with talking. Now . . . Weasley! In which place would I find my salad fork on a table setting?"

Ginny, who obviously had no idea, shook her head. Draco closed his eyes, looking deeply disturbed. _"Anyone?_"

"It's the left," Hermione piped up. "The– the second on the left, I think."

"Wrong!" Draco grated immediately. "It's only the second on the left only in Britain and Bulgaria. In France, Germany, and America it's the second on the right."

Hermione glared stonily, displeased at getting the question wrong.

"Granger . . ." Draco started, as if an appalling thought had just occurred to him, "will you bring me the dresses you bought for yourself and Weasley?"

Hermione Accio-ed the bags that the dresses had been purchased in. Draco pulled out the first one and shook it out. It was a yellow sun dress Hermione had decided would look cute on Ginny. Draco's face fell when he saw it.

"This won't do," he muttered forcefully. "This is just awful."

"What's wrong with it, Malfoy?" Hermione challenged defensively.

"It's, well . . . it's an abhorrence to fashion! The colour is appalling, and it looks like something that my grandmother would put on. Have you _seen _the kinds of dresses these French girls wear?"

"We're not French, Malfoy," Harry pointed out. "Why should we try to act like it?"

"Firstly," started Draco, as if he had been prepared to answer the question all of his life, "I will quote you _and _Granger. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. Secondly, I'm almost positive Fleur will try to humiliate one or more of you in front of the entire school. Thirdly, we are supposed to be cultured Ambassadors, not bumbling imbeciles – such as yourself, Potter – who don't have a clue. Consequentially, you all have to learn to be elegant and mannerly dancers by eight o'clock, and appalling as this is, I'm going to have to be the one to teach you."

Hermione felt her own mouth fall open, adapting an expression identical to that of Harry's. There was no denying it, however; Malfoy had way more class than the four of them combined. It was in the way he moved and the way he talked and the way he sat at a table and the way his grey eyes were always controlled, calculating, seductive . . .

She smacked herself inwardly. _What are you thinking?_

To mask her obvious irritation, she glanced at her wristwatch.

"Malfoy, it's a quarter after six. We have less than two hours to become classy ballroom dancers," she scoffed rather skeptically.

"Plenty of time," Draco replied nonchalantly. "But first I'll have to transfigure these dresses into some semblance of acceptability. Granger, Weasley, go do hair and makeup and whatever else it is that girls do to get ready."

Hermione huffed because it didn't seem right to take orders from him, but also didn't protest when Ginny dragged her out of the room.

There was silence as Draco examined the dresses. He shook his head in disbelief at Hermione's choices in evening wear.

"Well, now that they're gone, what should we do to these dresses?" Draco asked, a demonic expression passing over his face. "I'm thinking red and yellow polka dots with sequins, feathers, and rhinestones. And then of course there's always the black leather corset option . . ."

"Malfoy . . . " Harry started, his voice laced with warning.

"_Rufus,_" Draco muttered with a flick of his wand, and the dress changed abruptly. "Doesn't it ever get _boring, _being so righteous all the time?"

"Strangely enough," Harry muttered, "we get tired of hanging around you even faster."

"_Longus,_" Draco said forcefully, and the dress sprang to attention. "But you _do _get tired of it. _Mico._"

Harry moved to sit on the couch, running his hands through his hair. "If we get tired of being righteous, then you must get tired of being and evil, sadistic prat."

Draco frowned at the dress as if it had personally affronted him. _"Madidus._ You're right, Potter. I do get tired of being an evil and sadistic prat. That's when I revert back to being my normal, charming self."

The dress crumpled dejectedly to the floor.

"I think I've said enough," Harry retorted loftily, and stood up to leave.

"I think you've said far more than enough," the Slytherin replied with a wry smile.

Harry left.

"Well, it's just you and me, Macmillan," Draco said smugly. "It's time for your first lesson. Come over here and help me transfigure these dresses like a gentleman."

* * *

By the time they had all returned to the sitting room, it was a quarter to seven. There was hardly enough time to breathe comfortably. Hermione and Ginny had finished their hair and makeup, Harry had showered, and Draco and Ernie had completed the dresses. 

Hermione picked hers up, and it was silk under her fingers. Her face went a deep shade of magenta as she examined it. "Oh . . . oh no, Malfoy. You're not going to make me wear _this . . ._"

"That dress is conservative by French standards," Draco asserted defensively.

Ginny held hers up to the light. "Wow," she marveled, "this is really the sun dress Hermione bought for me? I like it, but it's a little risque."

"We don't have time for complaining," Draco quipped, swiftly masking his obvious amusement. "We have some dances to learn. Get up."

Harry responded with a dejected groan. "Malfoy, I just don't dance. You saw me at the Yule Ball. I'm awful."

"Foxtrot," Malfoy snapped abruptly, rising in a fluid motion. Hermione noticed that he had rolled up the sleeves of his white blouse and that his left forearm again glistened spotlessly. He ran a hand through his silver-blond hair. Everything about him was classy and controlled, and yet he managed a catlike grace that very few possessed. She also noticed that his eyes were the epitome of twilight; wedged hopelessly somewhere between night and day, black and white. They were unstoppable, the kind of eyes that pierced the soul and banished the impurities . . .

Boy, did she hate him. She hated him more than anyone. That was for sure.

"Partner up now," Draco drawled. "Not any good dancing without a partner."

Hermione automatically stood next to Harry, which left Ginny and Ernie.

"Now," started Draco, rather bossily, "we'll begin with the ballroom frame. Potter, take her right hand, and put your left hand around her waist . . . same to you, Macmillan."

Draco watched as they did as instructed. Harry and Hermione got it much quicker than Ernie and Ginny. After they were in position, Draco walked around, firing uncouth insults and prodding at them until they looked acceptable.

"_Never _lose this frame. Now, the foxtrot. The step are front, right, right, back, left, left."

He demonstrated for them quickly. "There now, try it."

Ginny and Ernie tripped over each other within the first ten seconds. Hermione and Harry were far worse, however. It wasn't a lack of talent, because they executed the steps perfectly. It was the scandalizing fact that Hermione was _leading_. She was, in fact, steering forcefully.

"No, no, no!" Draco cried angrily, breaking them apart.

"What?" Hermione challenged sharply. "The steps were perfect!"

She had, in fact, been to a Muggle ballroom dance school. She never like to talk about it because dancing seemed far too prissy for the strong-minded, independent Hermione Granger.

"You were _leading_, Granger," he sneered disgustedly. "I don't ever, _ever _want to see you lead again. A girl leading is as rude as burping at the supper table. Is that clear?"

Hermione looked more furious than ever. "So what if I do lead? It's an outdated rule that the boy needs to lead anyway."

Hermione witnessed something flash through Draco's eyes. Without warning he grabbed her wrist and placed it on his shoulder, while taking her other hand is his own. Harry ducked out of his way as he swept her forcefully across the room. She kept in time with him perfectly, her feet moving into a well known rhythm.

"_This,_" Draco grated, twirling her firmly, "is how . . ." but his eyebrows flew up as he realized that she had never danced before. She was a brilliant dancer and followed him perfectly. They twirled and stepped in an intoxicating rhythm, and Ginny noted that she had never seen more beautiful dancing.

" . . . it's done," Hermione finished for him, as he ended the dance by dipping her aggressively.

Harry, Ginny, and Ernie looked rather shocked. Perhaps that was an understatement. Hermione suddenly wondered what in the world she had been thinking to let him control her like that. She tried to justify it to herself. _Malfoy can't be a perfect dancer. I was merely trying to find something wrong with his technique!_

"You–" Hermione said a bit breathlessly, "you're using a swing rhythm for a European classic. That isn't right!"

"I most certainly was _not!_" Malfoy defended heatedly. "_This _is a swing rhythm!"

And this time he took both of her hands, and they swung together and apart flawlessly. He was smooth, his touch firm but liquid. Hermione felt a wave of heat engulf her.

"You certainly don't know any Latin," she spat scornfully, and immediately he led them into the cha-cha. This dance was naturally sensual, and they sashayed across the floor as he ran a hand down the length of her back before drawing her close. Suddenly their faces were only centimeters apart, and she stumbled against him in surprise. For a moment their bodies were pressed together closely, and she felt him draw a breath before pushing her roughly away.

She stumbled back, completely intoxicated. Blood was pounding painfully through her head, and her cheeks were no doubt flushed from exertion. Dancing with Malfoy had been everything she had expected it to be; competitive and dangerous and bruising, but it had also been everything she had _not _expected it to be; flowing and suave and sensual.

Harry was looking at the two of them in complete and utter shock. He grabbed her arm. "I need to talk to you outside _now._"

They marched into the hallway, and Harry shut the door behind him. Then he stared at her with a befuddled expression.

"What the _hell _was that?" Harry asked. He did not sound angry, just stunned.

"I . . ." Hermione trailed off. "After we started dancing, he wouldn't let go of me."

It was a lie, and an awful lie. Though Draco had always been firm, he had never been overbearing. Harry's eyes darkened with temper.

"I don't like that at all. I'm going to go in there and–"

"Harry, no," Hermione said quickly. "I went along with it. I just . . . completely forgot who I was dancing with. It was a lapse of good judgement on my part. Now if you don't mind, I already know how to dance, so I'll just go get dressed."

Harry regarded her carefully for a moment, an odd expression passing over his face. At last, he seemed to let it go. He shook his head with a grin. "Another of Hermione's hidden talents. Will you ever cease to amaze me?"

"I doubt it," Hermione replied with a smile. In truth, she would never cease to amaze herself.

((A.N. Next chapter covers the long awaited ball, so stay tuned for that. Hope you're liking the story and please review!))


	13. Suspicious, Superfluous, and Sadistic

((**A.N. **Hey there everyone. Thank you eternally for the **amazing** reviews, and on with the show.))

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**PART II: THE GREAT DECEPTION**

_**Lying to ourselves **is more deeply ingrained than lying to others. _

_--Fyodor Dostoevski_

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**Chapter 13;** Suspicious, Superfluous, and Sadistic 

Hermione checked her wristwatch quickly before taking it off. It was a quarter to eight, and the watch didn't go with her dress. She was fully dressed, and dawned a pair of strapless black heels Draco had given her to wear with the gown. She felt terribly overdressed, yet as she looked at herself in the mirror, there was not an abundance of material on her body; the least amount of material she'd ever worn into a public area, come to think of it.

Although she did not want to face Draco after the dancing dilemma, she decided that she had no other choice. After checking herself one last time ("Break a leg, dear," the mirror told her bracingly), she left her spacious, elegant room for the luxurious, aristocratic Sitting Room. _Merlin, these French people overdo it, _Hermione thought wearily. She was surprised upon entering to find no one inside. Perhaps they had all gone to their rooms to get ready. Hermione sat down in a chair, crossed her legs, and did not have to wait long for someone to arrive.

It was Harry, and he combed quickly through his wet hair.

"Hullo, Hermione," he muttered, searching his robes for his wand. "We don't have much time, we're going to–"

But words failed him as he turned around and caught sight of her. He seemed awestruck.

"That _dress . . ._" Harry started suddenly, "it's–"

"A bit revealing?" Hermione finished, raising her eyebrows.

"Well, yeah," Harry agreed with a laugh. "But . . . it's beautiful. _You're _beautiful. How did Malfoy create something so incredibly perfect?"

Hermione never got to answer the question, because Ernie strode in.

"Harry, can I borrow your . . . is that _you, _Hermione?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Of course it is, Ernie. Do I really look that awful?"

Ernie shook his head. "No, it's . . . wonderful."

Harry performed a drying spell on his hair, and water droplets cascaded to the floor. He looked good also, in sharp midnight blue dress robes.

Ginny arrived next, in the stunning crimson dress Malfoy had transfigured for her. It was flowing and ankle length, and was strapless and shimmered golden in the soft light. It brought out the fiery highlights in her hair, which cascaded down her back like a river of lava. Dramatic dangling earrings and golden heels finished the outfit off. Hermione thought Ginny looked more beautiful than she'd ever been, and also more influential and commanding.

"Do I look okay?" she asked them worriedly.

"Do you look _okay?_" Ernie asked disbelievingly. "Malfoy should be a dress designer or something!"

Hermione laughed as Harry muttered something uncouth about Draco's sexual orientation. She looked at the clock and noticed that it was almost five minutes to eight. Where was Malfoy? They always seemed to be running late because of him.

"Where is the man himself?" Ginny asked skeptically.

"I _do _take it that you're talking about me," an all too familiar voice drawled from the doorway.

Draco had been, at his best, stunning, and at his worst, good looking. Now the only phrase Hermione could find to describe him was devastatingly attractive.

His hair was gelled back lightly, but a few strands had broken loose and framed his face. His eyes glittered like veiled starlight, pure, hooded, silver, and concealed. The Slytherin wore a deep green blouse and charcoal slacks under forest dress robes, and the effect of the dark colors on his skin was astounding. He could have been a perfect porcelain figure, or perhaps an angel, fallen from such lofty heights.

"We're going to be late," Ernie told them, checking his wristwatch and breaking her stunned reverie.

"You're crazy if you arrive at a party on time," Draco admonished casually. "Fifteen minutes late is right on time by French standards."

"It will take us fifteen minutes to get down there," Harry pointed out. "Let's start walking."

He did not seem as hostile as he usually did toward Draco. Was it possible that the two boys were learning to tolerate each other? Surely not.

As they stepped out of the sitting room, Draco began reeling off last minute instructions.

"Granger, leave something on your plate at dinner. It looks better that way, trust me. Weasley . . . do not scape your dish with your fork. That is so plebeian. Potter, Macmillan, the proper way to greet a girl is with a kiss on the right hand. _Not _the left, that signifies you want to ask her hand in marriage. Just . . . act classy, even if you have no idea what you're doing. Always stay calm, never frown."

Hermione could barely believe Malfoy. She remembered that only a few weeks ago in Durmstrang, she had been giving _him _orders on how to act. They were far away from Durmstrang, though.

She had admittedly stared at Draco when he entered, but he hadn't seemed to notice. His eyes had flicked to her once, and he had not shown the slightest inclination as to whether he thought she looked beautiful or even acceptable

"Dancing . . . Weasley, keep your feet on the ground, your style is too jumpy. Macmillan, smoothen it out a little. Not so stiff when you're waltzing. Granger, I have nothing to say to you. Potter, avoid the dance floor at all costs. You're hopeless."

Harry commenced in glaring at him stonily, and Draco merely smirked.

They descended the large, sweeping staircase, and as Hermione lifted her dress up, she felt like a princess. _That is ridiculous, _she chastised herself, but a small smile played at her lips all the same. They puzzled out directions to the Grand Ballroom, and at last arrived at two golden, arched doors.

"These French think a lot of themselves, don't they?" Hermione muttered under her breath, and jumped as she noticed two butlers standing near the doors. When they caught sight of Hermione and the others, one brought a device up to his mouth that could have been a walkie-talkie, though she knew better.

"Zee 'Ogwarts Ambassadors 'ave arrived," one man said quietly. Then he straightened and smiled. "Welcome to ze Grand Ballroom of Beauxbatons, our honored guests."

Hermione could hear the low murmur of voices and the clink of glasses from within, and noticed that Ginny had suddenly gone pale.

"What– what if we trip?" Ginny stuttered. "I'm not used to wearing heels."

Harry, ever the concerned friend (or so Hermione assumed), was immediately at Ginny's side. He held out his arm to her.

"I'll escort you in . . . if you stumble, I'll catch you before anyone notices," Harry said with a grin. Ginny took his arm and immediately looked more as ease.

Hermione glanced down to see an immaculate arm extended toward her.

"And I take it that you'll need an escort also?" Draco asked with a snidely raised eyebrow. "You're such a clumsy Mudblood that you'd stumble over your own two feet if someone wasn't there to help you. And Merlin knows how that would make Hogwarts look."

He said it so softly that no one heard but her. It was cruel and calculated. Hermione felt heat flare up in her cheeks, and silently checked herself. There was no way she was going to let this jerk get to her. Grudgingly, she took his arm, and told herself it was because she did not want to make a scene in front of the butlers. In all honesty, however, she wasn't practiced in heels, and feared she would, indeed, trip.

Without another word, the butlers pushed the doors outward, and a rush of glitz and glitter filled their vision.

"Smile," was the last thing she heard Draco mutter, before he commenced in dramatically sweeping her into the ballroom.

Hermione would have tripped, had she not maintained an iron grip on Draco's arm. Draco himself felt unsteady, and lost his balance, but the Charming Smile never left his face.

"Drat the French," Draco muttered with conviction.

They were literally walking on the night sky. The floor was velvet black and sparkled with real stars. It was the striking opposite of Hogwarts. The ceiling was not a mirror image of the sky . . . the floor was. Rather, it projected what was directly beneath it. Far below, the lights of the city illuminated the streets. Hermione gasped at the sharp beauty of the ballroom, the whole of which was bright and seemed to sparkle fantastically. Golden chandeliers caught the glimmer of starlight, and swirling marble walls of white proved a stark contrast to the velvet black sky at their feet.

If someone had told Hermione that she would be walking on the stars in a palace in the sky, dancing the waltz with none other than Draco Malfoy, she would have had them committed. _And yet here I am, _Hermione thought.

After her eyes had adjusted to the glitz, she became aware of applause and someone calling out their names. The Beauxbatons group approached, and Hermione quickly dropped Draco's arm.

Fleur wore a long, champagne colored gown made of pure silk. The halter top and a sleek design showed off her slim and graceful form. Silver hair shimmered around her, a halo, and eyes like jewels met Draco's. She was astoundingly beautiful.

"Drah-co!" she said happily. "And 'Arry! 'Ow are you both? You look wonderful!"

Fleur's eyes flashed ruthlessly past Hermione.

Myra appeared beside her, the striking opposite but just as beautiful. Her black dress was smooth and tight, sparkling relentlessly, which caused her to blend in with the evening sky. Her lips were crimson and her dark curls flowed loosely down her back. Everything about Myra was dark and sultry and seductive. Jaime was wearing pure white, and his fair looks were appealing, as were Michael's. Hermione noticed that Michael looked nervous for some reason, almost jumpy. And last, Renae looked stunning in a midnight blue corseted gown that puffed out at the bottom with silver heels.

The remainder of the students had seated themselves at small tables scattered at the edges of the ballroom. Madame Maxime and various other important figureheads, including the French Minister of Magic, greeted the Ambassadors curiously.

The food was decadent, and set out in French buffet style, so that the guests could walk around and mingle as they ate.

The various conversations that took place throughout dinner ranged from scornful to intellectual to downright hilarious.

"I am surprised," Myra said quietly to Fleur, "At 'ow well the 'Ogwarts students 'ave done. Those dresses are something that I myself would wear to a ball."

Although it was obviously true, Fleur sniffed haughtily. "We will see 'ow zey do when it comes to dancing. Zat is ze true test of skill. Ze Durmstrang Ambassadors 'ave failed miserably, no?"

They glanced at the ill-dressed and surly Durmstrang Ambassadors, who stuck out like a sore thumb, save Krum, who had been to France on quidditch trips and was well accustomed to their ways.

Jaime, meanwhile, seemed oddly intent as he talked to Ernie. "If you ask me, my friend, those Bulgarians are completely barbaric."

The French boy was clenching his fists, and the knuckles were turning white. Ernie frowned and spoke diplomatically.

"Well . . . not _barbaric _in the classical sense. Perhaps a bit _below _the class of the French aristocrats, but certainly not–"

Jaime smashed his hand down on the table. "Zey do not deserve to stand on French soil!"

Ernie's eyebrows flew up. Jaime glared daggers at the Bulgarians; if looks could have killed, they would have dropped dead. Ernie was, needless to say, slightly concerned.

They were all alerted by the sound of a champagne glass shattering. They turned to see Michael run-walking out of the room. Immediately, butlers rushed in to clean up the mess.

"It's a bit suspicious, if you ask me," Ginny told Franz promptly. "He has been acting nervous all night. What is going on?"

"I have not an idea," said Franz, who looked sullen ad puzzled, "but I vant to leave za ball as soon as possible. It is too formal for my taste."

"It's a bit superfluous, if you ask me," Draco told Renae, who he was talking to across the room, "all of these beautiful luxuries, I mean. Who are you trying to impress?"

Of course it was just like Draco to be incredibly blunt in his wording and still come across as polite and charming.

"No one, actually," said Renae with a laugh. "These French aristocrats have always been decadently rich. During the French Revolution, however, most of the French royalty was taken out of power. The Muggle royalty, at least. The French Revolt didn't affect the Wizarding aristocracy very much. I suppose they just sort of stuck with the tradition of decadence."

"It's a bit sadistic, if you ask me," said Harry quietly to Hermione. "The way Malfoy is a complete bastard to us, but when he goes to parties he is the Golden Boy, the center of attention. Everyone loves him."

"That kind of charm should be outlawed," Hermione agreed, and watched Malfoy let loose his classical Charming Smile and lay a hand on Renae's shoulder. The girl almost swooned as she giggled helplessly. How did he do it?

"Oh no," said Harry suddenly, going pale. "I just remembered that a paper for my independent study course is due tomorrow. I've been researching Merlin's staff . . ."

"Merlin's staff?" came a dark voice. It was Myra's, and Fleur was standing next to her. "Tell me a bit . . . about it."

Hermione winced. The way Myra said it, she made it sound like some kind of innuendo.

"Well . . ." started Harry, looking uncertain, "Merlin, the legendary wizard from King Arthur's time, owned a staff. It is the most powerful magical object of all time, aside from Excalibur and Mordred's sword. Any one of those three objects could level a city in a normal wizard's hands. In an extraordinary wizards hands, any of them could destroy the world. Anyhow, the staff has been missing for so long that there are few who believe it actually exists."

"That is interesting," Myra said with a genuine but neutral nod.

"'Ow long 'as it been missing?" Fleur questioned suddenly.

"No one knows, really," Harry informed them. "All three objects have been estimated to have gone missing around the time of the Founders at Hogwarts, actually . . . but you two wouldn't know who they are."

"You are very smart, 'Arry," Fleur said with a smile. "Perhaps you will ask me to dance in a few minutes."

Before Harry could protest, she winked and walked off.

From across the hall, Draco observed Ginny and Harry talking together and decided to join them. Harry's back was turned to him, and Draco approached swiftly.

"You better not be drinking champagne, you utter prat," Draco informed him bossily. "Merlin knows you can't hold your liquor for–"

Harry had turned around, except that it wasn't Harry. It was Franz, and his eyebrows had disappeared into his hair.

Draco took a moment to dwell on the fact that he had completely and absolutely bungled a social situation for the first time in his life. It wasn't fair! Franz looked _exactly _like Harry from the back, and he even wore the same color dress robes.

"I am . . . terribly sorry," Draco said, having the common sense to look embarrassed. "I thought that you were . . . well, someone else."

Franz continued frowning heavily. "An easy mistake," the boy said at last, but it did not sound sincere.

_Great, _Draco thought sarcastically, _now you've got two Bulgarian neanderthals out to get you. Splendid job, you moron. _

He was saved any further embarrassment when he turned to see that the tables had all disappeared. Music came on, and Madame Maxime announced that it was time for the traditional French Waltz.

"In honor of their arrival, we will let the Ambassadors be the first on the dance floor."

"In _honor_?" Harry muttered under his breath, face paling visibly.

Draco swept over to Fleur and kissed her on the right hand.

"Would you like to dance?"

Fleur smile a gracious smile. "I would love to."

They swept onto the starlit dance floor in a graceful waltz. Hermione and Krum followed shortly, and as the couples danced by each other, Draco glared at Krum so ferociously that even Fleur noticed.

"Why do you 'ate 'im so much?" Fleur asked lightly. "'E is famous and good looking, and 'e is a good person."

Draco frowned. He knew Fleur couldn't lie, so obviously the part-veela tolerated Krum. Draco replied sharply.

"He is rude and uncouth. He has no class whatsoever. Not to mention the boat fiasco . . ."

Fleur laughed as she remembered this.

Krum waltzed with Hermione from across the dance floor.

"You despise Fleur . . . am I correct?" Krum asked tentatively. "I see it in your eyes. Fleur is an amazing person, Herm-o-ninny . . . perhaps you should give her a chance."

"She's so snotty and stuck up, though," Hermione countered forcefully, "not to mention that whole Triwizard fiasco . . ."

Hermione found that she actually liked being in Krum's arms. He was an excellent dancer, and he performed all of the steps precisely and straightforwardly. He was not very forceful in leading her, almost as if he was afraid he would hurt her. Dancing with him was nothing like dancing with the elegant, powerful Draco Malfoy . . .

But she quickly shut that thought out.

Many more dancers had taken to the floor, including Harry, who was trying in vain to look like he knew what he was doing as he danced with Ginny.

Fleur was a good dancer, Draco noted. Her style was extremely elegant, and she used many unneeded flourishes and twirls. _Her style is the exact opposite of Granger's, _he thought suddenly. Hermione's style was clean and honest and direct, just like the girl herself. He found himself irrationally annoyed by Fleur's flourishing steps.

The music changed abruptly, and Draco recognized the Latin beat of a faster cha-cha.In this dance, partners were switched around constantly.

And somehow, whether consciously or unconsciously, whether by fate or coincidence, Draco and Fleur ended up next to Krum and Hermione when it was time to switch.

Hermione's heart pounded painfully as she was thrust into Draco's arms.

Draco took the first good look at her he had taken all evening. She was stunning, with her unruly hair swept into a sleek bun, and dazzling pink-framed eyes. Her eyes matched her gown, which was a ravishing shade of fuchsia satin, and skimmed her calves. The satin clung tightly to her body, and the bottom flared out sharply as he twirled her. Her dress was Latin-style, and the gown had a thin, triangle cut halter top.

Fleur may have been prettier than her, but she was by far the sexiest and sharpest girl in the room. And though Draco would never admit it to himself, he had been waiting to dance with her all evening.

Their eyes locked, Hermione's full of wariness and Draco's full of cool disdain.The way he twirled her seemed to be an invitation, and her eyes filled with the notion of a challenge. How far would she let him go? Could he outdo her if he tried? Draco was sure that he could.

Hermione saw the smug arrogance in his eyes, and laughed inwardly. If he thought he could out-dance her, he was sadly mistaken.

Draco made his steps bolder, and twirled her so fast that she became a blur of magenta. Her striking features were unruffled as ever.

"You'll have to do better than that, Mister Malfoy," she said with a smirk that would have done his father justice.

It came time to switch partners, but they were glaring at each other so heatedly that neither noticed. The couple next to them stopped dancing, eyebrows raised.

Hermione and Draco swayed dangerously to the rhythm, breaking away from each other only to come back together more closely than before. Unlike Krum, Draco was not afraid he would hurt her. His leading was so forceful that at times it seemed as if he was trying to hurt her. And yet she had never danced with someone so completely enamoring.

Hermione's dancing was clean and direct and sharp, so much more blatantly beautiful than all of Fleur's unneeded flourishes.

Draco twirled her into his arms, sidestepped around her in time with the music, and brought her arm around his neck. They were shockingly close together, and Hermione felt a shiver of something she didn't like run down her spine. As he lead them into more and more complicated moves, her feet performed the steps flawlessly.

"You still have to do better, Malfoy," she said into his ear. "I'm getting bored over here."

People moved out of their way as their steps became even faster. Many people had stopped to watch, their mouths hanging open in shock and admiration. Eventually everyone in the ballroom had ceased movement, fascinated by Draco and Hermione.

Indeed, they looked as if they deserved to be dancing through the stars. Step-slide-step, step-slide-step, to the persistent Latin beat. He was the epitome of elegance and she was the model of grace, and they sashayed flawlessly across the floor, so quickly and austerely that they were only memorizing, tantalizing blurs.

He ran a hand down the length of her arm, and she responded by caressing his neck with her free hand. All the while their feet were moving with an unstoppable, centrifugal force that seared a hole in the dance floor like a burning star.

As the song came to an end, he thrust her into a dip and she threw her head back. He dipped her so low that the back of her head barely touched the ground.

The majority of the people in the room broke into wild applause. They had never seen dancing like Draco and Hermione had performed.

"Such charisma!" Myra said breathlessly to Fleur. Fleur was too busy glaring stonily at Hermione to reply.

Krum, on the other hand, looked as if her wanted to kill Draco.

Hermione's eyes widened in shock as she turned to see everyone watching them. Her cheeks flushed scarlet. The normal, bookworm part of Hermione wanted to get away from their shocked gazes as fast as was humanly possible. There was Fleur, giving her a look of clear disdain, and there was Krum, glaring daggers at an oblivious Draco. And . . . oh dear, there was Harry, his probing gaze much worse than Fleur's or Krum's. The rest of them looked happy or entertained or awed, and Hermione couldn't take it.

"Was that good enough for you, Granger?" Malfoy drawled lazily. On the contrary, he seemed to be enjoying the attention. "I daresay everyone else thinks so."

"I . . ." Hermione started. _What the hell am I doing? _she thought angrily. "I don't know what I was thinking, dancing with you."

"And twice, at that," Draco added in quickly. "I know it's hard to resist my charm, but . . ."

"Oh, quit it, Malfoy! You wanted to dance with me too!"

His eyes flashed dangerously as he finally began to realize what he had done. He was not happy.

"Now where would you be getting the idea that I would want to dance with a bossy . . . self-righteous, bookish little Mudblood such as yourself? Krum thrust you into my arms, Granger, so don't be getting any ideas that I _chose _to dance with you."

"You're a hypocritical prat," she accused, exasperated with his arrogance and disdain.

"And you're a pretentious bitch," he shot back, on the verge of losing his temper with her.

Hermione abruptly turned and strode out of the ballroom, leaving Draco standing all alone in the center of the sky. And all the while Harry's eyes followed her out, probing curiously where they had no right to be.

((**A.N. **So how are you guys liking the story? Why do you think so many people are acting suspicious? Give me some feedback! Press that review button. I swear there aren't any hidden charges. Coming up next chapter, Draco has abundance of philosophical conversations while nameless figures devise evil plans. Something is brewing but it may not be what it seems...))


	14. Illustrious Illusions

((**A.N. **And here's Chapter 14. This chapter is . . . philosophical, for lack of a better word. Kind of a calm before the storm (literally) chapter. So enjoy and review! ;D))

**PART II: THE GREAT DECEPTION**

* * *

_Gaze, lie, and **smirk **in time_

_Your arrogance will suit you well._

–_AFI, Paper Airplanes_

* * *

**Chapter 14; **Illustrious Illusions 

The Ball had ended, and Draco stepped onto the floorless balcony of the Sitting Room. Stars glittered above and below him, ships with diamond sails in a sea of midnight blue. A yellow moon rose austerely into the sky, and it seemed that the night had enveloped him.

He became aware of a presence behind him.

"Potter," he said. His voice sounded neither scornful nor polite. Had he ever said Harry's name neutrally?

"I wanted to talk to you, Malfoy," Harry said firmly.

Draco had not turned to face him, but stood with his hands in his pockets, head tilted upwards.

"Did you now," Malfoy intoned. It was a question, but had been phrased as a statement.

"It's about Hermione," Harry continued, his voice like taut wire. At last Draco turned around and looked at Harry. Starlight shone on his green eyes, but in the half darkness they looked startlingly silver. His charcoal hair hung messily around his face, which was half obscured in darkness.

"There's something going on between you and her, isn't there?" Harry asked softly, his eyes conveying what looked like apprehension.

"Hm," Draco said in a noncommital tone. "Define, 'going on,' Potter. Because if you're using 'going on' in the sense that we have a loving, mutual, and mature relationship, I'd have to say no. On the other hand, if you mean 'going on' in the sense that she thinks I'm a hypocrite and I think she's a pretentious liar and there is a vindicatory feeling of heated hatred between us, then the answer is a resounding yes."

He grinned wryly as he saw Harry's face relax.

"Wow," said Harry with a dry laugh, "way to quote Hermione almost exactly, Malfoy. I just got through talking with her . . ."

"You love her," Draco said certainly, giving Harry a sideways glance. His expression didn't change.

"Yeah," Harry admitted with a small smile. "Yeah, I do."

Draco raised his eyebrows, amazed that Harry would so easily share his romantic feelings with Draco. When Harry saw Draco's expression, he shook his head.

"_No, _Malfoy . . . do you think I feel like pulling her into a broom closet and snogging with her? No. Would I die for her? Yes, and without even thinking about it."

Draco seemed truly amused for the first time Harry had ever known.

"That's _weird, _Potter," Draco stated bluntly. "Most teenage boys would opt for the simple broom closet option."

Harry grinned back. "I know," he said simply.

They fell silent, and Harry noticed that Draco's gaze was still turned skyward.

"It's odd, don't you think," Draco started softly, "that everybody says the stars are beautiful. When we look at them, we see these tiny, exquisite jewels that sparkle above our world, like they're watching over us or something. In reality, they are orbs of endless fire that destroy everything around them. If we saw stars for what they really were, do you think we would still admire their beauty? Or would we admire their endless and unmatched destructive power?"

A swift and silky silence followed his words until Harry spoke.

"Wow . . . I never thought of you as much of a poet, Malfoy," Harry said, mock admiration in his voice.

"It's not poetry, Potter," Draco said simply. "It's the truth."

"The star thing is kind of depressing, actually," Harry continued. "From far away a star is so beautiful . . . from up close it will destroy you in a moment."

"Better to see things as they really are, though," Draco pointed out, "than to be deceived by a beautiful illusion that can surely never be."

Harry was surprised by the cold conviction in Draco's voice as he said this. It wasn't the Malfoy he was used to at all, and it unnerved him a bit.

"It's late," was all Harry said, before turning to leave. A few minutes after Harry had gone, Draco followed Harry off the balcony. He always did.

Draco went to his own room, and the stars with all of their deceptive beauty shone on.

The following day, Draco gazed out the window and saw signs of a storm approaching. Though the morning had dawned clear and bright, late in the afternoon he could feel the crackling anticipation in the air right before a storm.

_Odd, _he remembered thinking later. _I'm almost sure they didn't get storms at this time of year. _Feeling adventurous and admittedly a little bored, he decided to explore the castle.

He stepped outside his room and into the marble hallway. They greyness of the sky reflected itself in the shiny white marble. He heard thunder rumble in the distance, and in the late afternoon the light of the chandeliers seemed shifty. The whole castle was sultry and antique and perhaps a little creepy.

He supposed that usually it was fuller and less eerie, but all of the students at Beauxbatons had gone with Madame Maxime to the village below, save the fifteen Ambassadors. Draco surmised that it was the equivalent to a Hogsmeade trip, except that no students had been left behind. They would be back before dinner, he supposed.

Draco stopped suddenly as he heard voices coming from around a corner. They seemed hushed and secretive. Afraid of being caught but curious all the same, he slid closer to the wall and strained to hear what was being said.

"I do not know vat you vant me to do!" came an urgent whisper. It was a male voice. Krum, perhaps? Draco couldn't tell.

"I vant you to try harder! Get me the backgrounds of each and every one of za Ambassadors . . . extensive backgrounds. Talk to them all, ask subtle questions . . ."

The girl that had spoken sounded Bulgarian also . . . but was it Hilda or Ava? The male spoke again more forcefully.

"I am certain it is Jaime . . . he is far too emphatic about how wonderful za French are! It is a cover up!"

Draco frowned, completely confused. What were they talking about? His eyebrows shot up at the girl's next words.

"I suspect za Draco Malfoy boy . . . he doesn't seem to get along with the other Hogwarts Ambassadors. The dancing last night vas obviously a confusion tactic."

"Ve _cannot _strike until ve know for certain . . ." the next part was too low to hear, ". . . someone in this castle is lying."

There was a pause. "I get za feeling that many of za Ambassadors are not who they seem," finished the girl. He heard footsteps heading in the other direction and relaxed.

_What the hell was that? _Draco thought, bemused. Two Bulgarians were plotting in secret, and they were plotting about _him. _He was, needless to say, alarmed. The particular use of the word "strike" had not implemented pleasant thoughts into his head. He thought it was probably a good idea to tell someone, but quickly decided against it. If they found out that he'd been eavesdropping, who knew what they would do? He was just have to settle with watching all of the Durmstrang Ambassadors very closely.

He turned a corner and almost cried out as he collided with something silver. The silver thing emitted a high-pitched scream, and he promptly realized it was none other than Fleur.

As she became aware that Draco was standing before her, she seemed to calm somewhat, and steadied herself against him.

"Drah-co. I am so _very _sorry. I was in a hurry," Fleur simpered apologetically.

Draco smiled, somewhere between a smirk and a grin. _That's right, _he thought wryly, _swoon pathetically in my presence. You girls are all the same. _"It's fine. I was going too fast anyway," Draco replied.

"I wanted to see you, actually," Fleur said, in a voice that implied their run-in was convenient. "I 'ave been meaning to show you something."

"Show me something . . .?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. What was the girl trying to say?

"Follow me," Fleur said with a smile. She grabbed his hand and began to pull him along. She did not need to pull hard, or at all, for that matter. He caught up with her quickly.

As they strode along the hall, thunder crashed menacingly above them. Droplets of rain pattered against the window panes.

Fleur smiled. "I love this weather," she intoned softly, when she realized Draco was watching her.

"You don't get storms like this very often, do you?" Draco asked.

She smiled at him as they stopped in front of a door.

"We're here," she announced, instead of answering the question.

"We're _where?_" Draco asked quizzically. Why did he always seem to be asking questions when it came to Fleur?

Again, she didn't answer, merely opened the door and ushered him inside.

The first thing that he was aware of was the _cold. _It was rather like stepping out of the bathroom after a hot shower; that shocking transition from balmy warmth to arid iciness.

At first he thought he had entered a room made purely of diamonds. Everything glistened and refracted off of itself, creating a light show filled with rainbows.

"Do you remember in Bulgaria that I told you zere was a room fashioned entirely of ice? Well, zis is it."

The walls and floor had been covered in thin sheets of ice. Strewn around the large room there were more dazzling ice sculptures than Draco had ever seen. He felt as if he were in room filled entirely with mirrors, which reflected pieces of each other until he was lost in the swooping complexity and grace. With every turn of his head the room changed, though after a few steps Draco realized the room only _looked _like it was changing.

"Wow," said Draco. "Someone could almost get lost in here." Sound seemed muffled, somehow, though his image was magnified a hundredfold.

"Indeed, people 'ave gotten lost," Fleur informed himher eyes sparkling, "it is called the Hall of Illusions by many."

"It's beautiful," Draco answered, but a certain uneasiness filled him as he looked as Fleur's reflection in the thousand of chips of ice. His words from the night before came rushing back.

_Better to see things as they really are than to be deceived by a beautiful illusion that can surely never be._

"It's kind of deceiving," he said out loud, and she nodded her head.

The sculptures themselves, however, were the most amazing things in the room. They were so well done that they could have been carved from stone. There were sculptures of valiant knights locked in deadly duels, fanciful dancers in flowing gowns, of aesthetic castles and drifting clouds. On the ceiling there were icy stars, glittering as convincingly as real ones. He found that he could not even tell how large the room was, for all of the ice chips reflecting off of themselves. It could have been as small as a dorm room in Hogwarts, or large as the Great Hall.

"Who created this room?" Draco asked curiously. He reached out to touch an ice sculpture, and it hurt his skin. His breath came out in frosty clouds as he examined the ice sculpture.

"Actuallyit was fabled to have been created by Mordred," Fleur said quietly, "one of the most powerful wizards of all time."

"And one of the most evil," Draco added in quickly. "Wasn't he that bloke who supposedly killed King Arthur? Amazing, isn't it, how someone so evil could create something so beautiful."

Fleur looked at him quizzically, as if his words puzzled her. She spoke softly but clearly.

"Good, and evil. What will it all amount to in the end, Drah-co? I am just a person and you are just a person. Who are we to discern what is good from what is evil?"

Draco paused before speaking. "I suppose you're right. Everyone is just looking for the same thing, in the end, and that's truth."

"With all of ze illusions around us, I wonder if we will ever be able to find it," Fleur said with a sad smile.

And as they left the room, Draco had the strange feeling that he was exiting a small Hall of Illusions only to enter a bigger one, the size of the entire world.

* * *

FACT: _The final battle of King Arthur is speculated to have taken place on Salisbury Plain. Stonehenge lies on Salisbury Plain. _

"Stonehenge?" Dumbledore questioned. "Remus . . . this is impossible."

"I know," said Lupin wearily, "but the poem leads right to it. Listen to this . . . ' the pillar of stone, and the crescent it sows.' Albus, Stonehenge was built as a _crescent, _and it is made of _pillars of stone. _There are also numerous references in the poems to stars, and many believe that Stonehenge is a map of the night sky, if decoded properly. Even the line itself, _starlight shines on the eye, _is an astrological reference to–"

"Remus," Dumbledore intoned, cutting him off. "When I say impossible, I mean that it is _impossible_ for the relic to be hidden there. Stonehenge has been intensely studied for centuries by Muggles and Wizards alike. There is nothing of significance within the stone circle. Experts agree on this."

Lupin looked away, agitated.

"Then it is a map of some kind. A map that leads straight to the ancient relic. We are overlooking something, Albus. Stonehenge is very important."

"That is just it," Dumbledore said immediately. "Stonehenge _is_ very important. It is far too conspicuous a place to hide a long lost relic. You claim Stonehenge is a map, then. Are you suggesting that whoever hid the relic has also given an obvious map to anyone who wishes to seek it? That is not a rational thing to do, if the person who hid it wanted the object to sink into oblivion," Dumbledore countered.

"But can't you see? What better way is there to hide something then to place it right before everyone's eyes? No one would expect to find something of importance in the most obvious place of all."

"And you, Remus," Dumbledore continued, "do you think you are going to be the one to decode the mystery of Stonehenge?"

"Someone is already far ahead of me, Albus. Someone who is doubtless working for Voldemort. If I want to find this relic before them, I will have to work fast. The person I work against is clever . . . brilliant, even. It will not be easy."

"It will not be easy," Dumbledore agreed solemnly. "But, Remus, there is one thing that bothers me . . ."

"What's that?"

"A poem, a clue, a map . . . it all seems like one large riddle. It almost seems like someone . . . well, _wants _us to find this object."

There was an ominous sort of silence. Finally, Lupin spoke.

"If that is so, then . . . there is nothing to be done about it. We must not let this relic fall into Voldemort's hands."

But something nagged at the back of Lupin's mind.

_Starlight shines on the eye._

_Salvation and destruction, hand in hand. _

* * *

And somewhere, either very near or very far away, depending on how one looked at it, a lone figure was stooped over a large tome. The sharp eyes widened as they examined the complicated chart. 

"I've . . . I've got it," came the bemused voice suddenly.

The nameless figure snapped the book shut and smiled.

The brilliance of this riddle went far beyond what had been expected. It was nothing short of genius. Simple, yet complex. Carefully planned, yet subtlety engineered.

_Salvation and destruction, hand in hand. _

((**A.N**. Next chapter there are even larger quantities of evil scheming, and a twist so big that it changes the genre of the whole story. Dun dun dun.))


	15. Horrendous Happenings

((**A.N. **Here's Chapter 15 and it's time to thank all you reviewers out there. Skip this if you wanna get right down to business.

**Anukunamun-Kalia- **You're almost always the first person to review my story, that's so cool. I always look forward to what you're going to say about a chapter and I really take it to heart. : )

**Jaded Atticus- **Here's an update!

**Hgbookworm- **I love your reviews as well. ;D You liked the ambiguity of the end? There'll be more of that coming up.

**immelt- **I hope you like mysteries because that's where we're headed.

**XteardropkissesX- **You really understood some of the symbolism in that chapter didn't you? Your theories are very, very... interesting. (hint hint hint)

**Color Esperanza- **An H/H shipper are you? I disliked that ship until recently... now you'll see H/H pop up all over the place in my story. It's an accident, I swear. ;D.

**imur1Love- **I love mysteries... there aren't that many good mystery fanfics out there. I would recommend **P U R E B L O O **D by **Wevvles. **It's a superb D/Hr (I think?) mystery.

**ali-lou- **Although the Lupin plot and the Ambassador plot don't _seem _related, they most definitely are. How? Hints have been dropped, more hints will be dropped.

**I Write Sins Not Tragedies- **I'm glad my story gave you a lot to think about. I really like your new story, **A Cruce Salus. **I suggest reading this, anyone who likes Ginnystories.

**xxlightningboltxx-**Thanks! ;D

**Bleeding on the Ballroom Floor-** I love your name. Yeah, genre-changing twists are always interesting. I was really glad you liked that quote. Most boys **would **just opt for the broom-closet option though, wouldn't they?

**steffy-potter- **You've reviewed my stories since _forever. _Thank you so much.

**Hawkgal- **There'll definitely be some more dancing between those two so leep reading!

**ebtwisty9- **Wow, I'm amazed that 14 was your favorite chapter. There wasn't much romance in it but I guess you're the kind of person who likes intrigue better than romance?

**horseluver13- **I'm glad I passed your grammar test (whew!). My story is on the boards at Fictionalley? I didn't know that...

**Le Noir de Adhara- **I haven't talked to _you _in a while! ;D I know I'm pretty bad aren't I? I hope you're confused, that's how it's supposed to be. ; P

**rachhulk- **Another Stonehenge-plot liker. Very cool.

**lughnasadfirecat- **Here's the next chapter, even longer than the last... my chapters are just gonna keep getting longer, and longer, and longer... OO

**maddy midnight- **My name is Maddy as well. But are you a Madison or a Madelyn?

**RA- **Keep reading okay?

**Schnooglelover- **I love philosophical rants... I'm a very philosophical person when it comes right down to it. I think my writing reflects that a lot.

**bella- **Thanks, I love writing this story.

**TigerLilly1889- **Another of my more chronic reviewers. Thanks and I hope you like this chapter as well.

I also want to thank **Aly, **my beta reader, who is uncannily goodat catching mistakes and helps me become a better writer all the time.

If I forgot to thank anyone then you can hound me with multiple angry emails if you'd like, I won't mind, but I didn't mean to. I swear. Enjoy the chapter!))

**

* * *

**

**PART II: THE GREAT DECEPTION**

_And is evil,_

_Something you **are**, or something you **do**?_

–_Morissey_

* * *

**Chapter 15; **Horrendous Happenings 

Hermione lounged in the Sitting Room, staring out at the steadily darkening late afternoon sky. The wind howled ferociously, and the sky turned a menacing shade of black. It seemed that the storm they had been anticipating was finally rolling in. The ominous weather was a violent contrast to the balmy weather of the previous day. She expected that it was nearly time for Madame Maxime and the other students to return.

"Did you know," said Harry from an armchair across the room, "that Mordred actually killed King Arthur, who was his own father? That's the myth, at least."

"I'd heard that," Hermione answered, surprised at Harry's interest in the subject he had been assigned for independent study.

"The odd thing is that the sword Mordred stabbed King Arthur with has never been found and it's supposed to be one of the most powerful dark objects ever created. How much money d'you reckon Voldemort would pay to get his hands on something like that?"

Hermione laughed. "That's ridiculous, Harry. That sword has been missing for over a millennium."

Harry shook his head pensively and continued reading.

Raindrops pattered against the window, and the wind picked up speed. She thought she saw a dark shape hover just out of her vision, but when she turned, of course, there was nothing there.

Draco had flounced off somewhere, apparently in a hurry, and Ginny was napping in her room. Ernie . . . where _was _Ernie?

Her question got answered as he banged into the Sitting Room, gasping for air.

"Down there . . . ! In the entrance hall . . ." his eyes widened, and he was obviously terrified, " . . . get Ginny . . . come quick . . . !"

"What's going on, Ernie?" Hermione asked urgently. A flash of lightning illuminated the room briefly. Harry had dashed to Ginny's room and pounded on the door.

"It's Franz . . ." Ernie cried, "I think he's dead!"

"What?" Hermione cried, slapping a hand over her mouth.

Ernie could only nod. "Come quick!" He made for the door, but Hermione motioned for him to wait. At last, Harry and Ginny arrived, the latter looking annoyed and distinctly rumpled.

"Ernie says Franz is dead," Hermione informed them, white in the face. Harry paled considerably and Ginny gasped.

"How?" Hermione asked, as they followed Ernie quickly down the stairs.

"I think he fell," Ernie answered, "from the top of the stairwell."

They heard voices below, and clamoured down the stairs. At the bottom, in the Entrance Hall, a group of Ambassadors milled around chaotically.

Hermione pushed her way through the crowd, afraid of what she would see. At the center lay Franz, a pool of blood around his head. She felt her stomach lurch wildly.

Suddenly Myra burst through, and fell to her knees beside him. "Out of the way," she said forcefully, and everyone backed up considerably. She tentatively put her hand to his throat, and everyone seemed to hold their breath.

Myra closed her eyes. "He's dead," she said softly. Fleur, on Hermione's right, sobbed quietly. "Zis is awful," she heard Fleur say. "Zis is awful."

From behind them came a roar, and Krum pushed his way through, coming to a skittering halt in front of Franz. He looked angrier than she had ever seen him. "What happened?" he demanded.

"He fell," said Jaime, pointing at the railing above. "Look. The banister is broken!"

Heads turned upwards to observe the broken banister right above Franz. Krum glanced around wildly.

"He did not fall!" Krum answered incredulously. "Za banister is waist-high, that is completely impossible."

"Maybe he jumped," Ernie suggested.

"He didn't jump, you prat, the banister is broken," Ginny said softly. Krum nodded.

"Zese banisters do not just break," Fleur intoned, "Zey are made of sturdy wood! Zey 'ave never broken before!"

"Maybe someone pushed him," came a voice from behind them. It was Draco, and he had just entered, looking casually interested. "Is he dead?"

"Yes," Hermione answered tightly. Draco raised an eyebrow cooly. His insolence seemed to anger Krum even more.

"You!" he roared, pointing a finger at Draco. "Where vere you vhen all of this vas happening?"

Draco looked suddenly uncomfortable. "I was . . . taking a walk," he said carefully.

"Malfoy, we're on a castle in the clouds! Where were you taking a walk?" Ernie asked incredulously.

"Around," he said, regaining composure. He turned to Krum. "And where were you?" Draco asked nonchalantly.

"I vas flying my broom," Krum said vehemently.

Draco let out a harsh laugh. "In this weather? That's interesting. That's _really _interesting."

"How dare you imply that I had anything to do vith this! Franz vas like a brother to me! I vill kill you!"

"Just like you tried to kill us all that day on your ship?" Draco asked quickly, eyes flashing.

"Stop it!" Myra cried angrily. "We 'ave no proof that zis was intentional. We will cast a preserving charm on the scene, and wait for Madame Maxime and the rest of them to come back."

"That's the other problem," said Draco casually. "This is a magical storm."

"Meaning . . . ?"

"That all magic in the vicinity goes completely haywire . . . there's so much magic in the air that it can't be controlled. This storm is just starting up, but it already looks so strong that the Portkeys back to the castle may not work."

"If that is so, then Madame Maxime can Apparate here," Ava said calmly, staring Draco down.

"It is impossible to Apparate on or off Beauxbatons grounds," Jaime said immediately.

"Like at Hogwarts," Hermione whispered.

"Hold on here," Krum started, rounding on Fleur. "You are telling me there is no way to get out of the castle non-magically?"

"Yes," Fleur said in a despairing tone.

"I vill fly a broom down!" Krum said desperately.

"Brooms go haywire in a magical storm," Harry piped up unexpectedly. "You would fall off."

Hermione realized why Krum's previous excuse for where he was at Franz's murder was so unbelievable. Flying a broom at this time would have been impossible. _Where **was** Krum, then? _Hermione thought suspiciously.

"Then what are we supposed to do?" Ginny asked, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. She touched her left arm worriedly and turned to Myra. "You must have had storms like this in the past! How did you get down from the castle?"

"Zat is ze thing," Myra said softly. "We 'ave never had a storm like this before."

"That is because it's not–" but Ernie cut himself off before finishing the sentence.

"It's not what?" Hermione asked quizzically.

"Never mind," Ernie replied quickly.

"So we're stuck in here until the storm ends?" Renae asked fearfully.

"As of right now, it vould seem so," said Ivan from near Krum.

Thunder crashed, deafening in the prevailing silence, and rattled the floor. An electric panic passed quickly through the group.

"I think that we all need a few moments to calm down," Myra said softly. "Why doesn't everyone retire to their common rooms, and we all meet back 'ere in 'alf an hour."

Hermione thought this was a good idea, and agreed. She needed a few moments away from the others to process the new information.

As they ascended the stairs, Harry squeezed Hermione's hand in his own for a moment and smiled reassuringly at her. She could see the worry behind his eyes, though.

"Afraid, Potter?" Draco sneered at Harry as they walked to the common room.

Thunder crashed outside the castle, but Hermione had a growing suspicion that it was no safer inside the castle walls than it was outside in the raging storm.

* * *

They entered the Sitting Room quickly, and Harry shut the door behind them. He then sat on the edge of an armchair near the fire. 

"What were you going to say back there?" Harry asked, directing the question at Ernie.

Ernie sighed. "I was going to say that it's impossible for a magical storm to manifest here."

"Newsflash, Macmillan," said Draco rather rudely. He pointed out the window, and lightning flashed as if on cue.

"Well," Ernie said stubbornly, "the climate here just doesn't support the manifestation of such a storm. I am doing Weather Manipulation for my independent study course. Basically, what I'm suggesting is that this storm didn't occur naturally."

"Then how is it here?" Hermione asked impatiently.

Ernie sighed in frustration. "I don't know. It seems like a bit of a coincidence, doesn't it, that the very night someone dies, it also becomes impossible to escape from the castle?"

Hermione had noticed this coincidence, also, but had a hard time comprehending the repercussions of it.

"It's no coincidence," Draco answered darkly. "I think someone pushed Franz purposely."

"It wasn't one of the Ambassadors," Ginny said frankly. "That's just too awful."

"But there is no one else in the castle!" Harry interjected.

"Do we know that for a fact?" Ernie replied swiftly, glancing at Harry.

Hermione shivered. She didn't know which was worse, the idea of a sinister figure lurking in the shadows of the castle, or the idea that the murderer was sitting calmly somewhere in the bright light of one of the common rooms, chatting nonchalantly.

"Let's not assume anything right now," said Hermione boldly. "For all we know, it could have just been an accident."

Both Draco and Harry looked skeptical about this.

"C'mon, let's just relax until dinner," she continued. "We'll go down and talk about it then."

Nodding, Harry leaned back slowly in his armchair. A loud crash of thunder caused Ginny to yelp and Harry to sit straight up. Hermione jumped, and Ernie's hand smashed against the wall. Draco, casually draped across the sofa, was the only one who seemed unmoved.

"So much for the relaxing, then," he drawled, amusement laced through his voice. Hermione wondered how he could still find amusement in a situation such as this.

Hermione took up a book, and Harry continued to research ancient relics for his independent study course. The feeling in the room, however, was stilted and uneasy. At last it was time to go down to dinner, though Hermione found she had no appetite.

They stepped into the hall tentatively. The storm outside seemed to be, if possible, growing worse. The palace was as light and elegant as ever, but the rain and thunder infused it with a sinister element. She half expected a crazed murderer to jump out at any moment and attack. Needless to say, she was glad they arrived safely in the Grand Ballroom. Hermione glanced into the entrance hall and was surprised to see only a stain of blood where Franz's body had been. She approached Krum, who was loitering rather nervously around the door.

"Where is . . . Franz?" she asked, for all the world not able to say 'the body.'

Krum cleared his throat. "Ve carried him into za Hall of Illusions . . . ve could not levitate him because za magic vould not work properly. It is cold in there."

Hermione nodded after a moment, and turned to the center of the room. Fleur and Ivan were transfiguring (with many misfires and odd spouts of light) one of the square tables into a round one. Everyone else milled about restlessly. The attitude of the group was much changed from the previous night. There were too many shifty eyes and unneeded questions.

"It is ready," Myra announced as she finished Accio-ing the fourteenth chair. "Everyone please take a seat."

As Hermione sat at the circular table, she was reminded ridiculously of the Knights of the Round Table and King Arthur.

"First of all," said Myra, "ze Brownies are still here, though they will have to bring our dinner up by hand since ze magic won't function properly. For now, we must decide what course of action to take."

"We have established that there is no way out of the castle," Draco announced, an eyebrow coolly raised.

"Correct," answered Myra. Rain pounded relentlessly on the windows. "The next course of action would be to figure out if there is anyone else in the castle besides us. I 'ave a way to do this."

She pulled out a crinkled sheet of paper and laid it out on the table. "Zis paper tracks the location and movement of everyone in ze castle."

Hermione leaned forward to get a better look. There was a complicated floor plan of the castle, and fourteen dots were placed in a precise circle. One of them was labeled Hermione Granger. It was a replica of the Marauder's Map.

"There are only fourteen people in ze castle," Fleur said, "and zey are all in zis room."

An uneasy silence followed her words.

"That does not make sense," said Ivan, shaking his head.

"No," Hilda agreed, her long blonde braids swishing. She looked extremely confused.

"So Franz fell by accident," Hermione said simply. She was yet unable to accept the fact that one of the people sitting at the table had killed Franz.

"I disargee," said Krum immediately. "It is absurd that Franz fell. He vas afraid of heights, and never vent near the edge of a balcony."

"And I will testify that even if he was near the banister, the railings do not simply break," Jaime added. "Zey are too strong."

"Then what are you suggesting?" Ginny asked suddenly. "That someone at this table murdered him?"

There was silence. A few suspicious looks were thrown around, accompanied by some uneasy fidgeting.

"That's called jumping to conclusions if you ask me," Ginny continued, her voice strong. "No one here had a reason to kill Franz."

"I have an idea," Hermione said suddenly. She turned to Myra. "Do you have any Veritaserum in storage?"

"I think so," Myra said.

"We can give a drop, just a drop, to everybody after dinner and ask them if they had anything to do with Franz's death. That way we can be sure no one at this table did it."

At least half of the people at the table looked uneasy, but no one more than Renae. She drummed her fingers incessantly on the table top and bit her lip.

No one said anything against Hermione's idea, because obviously it would appear suspicious.

"It's settled, then," said Myra. She pulled out her wand before looking at it and putting it away. "I will 'ave to go down to the basement and retrieve the Veritaserum by hand. Who wants to come with me?"

Suddenly everyone seemed to like the idea of staying in the well-lit, elegant ballroom. What if Myra herself was the murderer? No one wanted to be alone with anyone else.

"Look," Hermione said shortly. "Six of us can go with you, and the other eight will stay back here. How does that sound?"

Everyone seemed more inclined to that idea, and the six people that ended up volunteering were Krum, Hermione, Myra, Renae, Ivan, and Ernie.

Everything darkened as they walked out of the ballroom, but Hermione realized it was only a trick of the eyes.

After they had been walking for a bit, Krum grabbed her arm and made her walk back a ways from the others.

"Hermi-o-ninny, I do not know who to trust anymore. I vant you to know that I trust you above everyone else."

Thunder crashed.

"I just think it's ridiculous that anyone murdered Franz," she said. "It makes no sense."

"There are people in this castle that are dangerous, Hermi-o-ninny. Take my word for it."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked quizzically, for his expression had darkened.

"C'mon, you two," Ernie called from up ahead. "We've found it."

In the basement storeroom they located three bottles of Veritaserum. They had returned to the ballroom in less than five minutes.

Harry and the others seemed relieved to have them back.

Dinner was a quiet and subdued meal. Everyone drummed his feet or smoothed her shirt one too many times to make it comfortable. At last the Brownies cleared the dishes, and only fourteen cups remained.

It ended up that Hermione and Draco were invested with the task of placing a drop of Veritaserum in every cup. Fleur, looking unreasonably smug, stood up and approached Hermione. She was smiling.

"I am a Veela," Fleur said very clearly. "It is already true that I cannot lie, so I won't be needing any of zat potion."

She looked so smug that Hermione found herself suspicious.

"We'll give you a drop anyway, just to be safe," Hermione said with a contrived smile.

Fleur held out her cup. "Zis is eez not fair!"

She flounced off, expression dark.

Then the group watched as each Ambassador drank the potion. They started with Krum. Draco looked fiendishly excited.

"Did you have anything to do with the death of Franz?" Hermione asked him. Krum glanced around.

"No," Krum said clearly. He seemed surprised that the word had come out of his mouth.

They went around to Ernie, Renae (who looked extremely nervous), Ivan, and Ava. Each one of them said no. Draco was next. Hermione asked him the same question.

"No," Draco said simply. Krum was enraged. He stood up violently.

"Did you kill Franz!" Krum shouted at Draco.

"I already said _no,_" Draco replied softly. "Did you not hear me? I have never hated Franz, never wanted to kill Franz! There! But I do hate you, and you know it's the truth."

Krum looked ready to explode, and people began whispering quietly, distracted.

"Do you hate me?" Hermione asked Draco quietly, before she could think about it. She knew the answer.

"Yes," said Draco softly, "I hate you more than I have ever hated anyone in my life . . . when I think about you I hate you for how you talk back to me, how smart you are, how pretty you are, I hate you for being the _only-_"

He bit down on his tongue so hard that he could taste blood in his mouth. His gaze met hers fiercely, and she could tell it was taking every bit of his will to fight the potion.

She felt something cold lance through her, like the realization that she had flunked a test. Not that she had ever failed a test in her life, but she imagined this coldness was how it would feel.

It seemed no one had heard her question or his answer.

Fleur was questioned next, and flippantly denied that she had anything to do with it and how dare they accuse her of murder in her own castle. They went around the table, each person saying 'no' until at last they came to Michael. He was sweating profusely.

"Did you have anything to do with the death of Franz?"

"Y . . . no," he said at last. Hermione frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I didn't m-murder him," Michael said, and then rather the same expression came over his face as had been on Draco's, as if he was refraining from saying something.

Hermione then administered the antidote, and everyone seemed to relax. One by one, the twelve of them stood up, until only Myra and Fleur were left at the table.

Myra stood up, followed by Fleur.

"I am _determined _to figure zis out," Hermione heard Myra tell Fleur. "It makes no sense."

They had all denied having anything to do with the death of Franz, which meant that his death had been an accident. If that was true, then why were they all still uneasy? Hermione decided to talk to Harry about it later.

Outside, the storm raged on.

((**A.N. **Well what do you think is going on here? Did Franz just... fall? Or is there something more sinister behind his death? Who seems the most suspicious? I'm sure you all have your own idea ...give me your suspect in a review. Next chapter, the mystery deepens, the storm strengthens, and a kiss in the rain changes everything. Review!))


	16. Pretentious Propositions

((**A.N. **Wow so you guys came up with a lot of good suspects for the "murder." A lot of you thought it was **Michael, **with **Krum** coming in at a close second. There were also a couple of people who suspected **Fleur, Draco, Renae**, and even** Ernie**. Also one person came up with a very detailed and convincing assessment of Krum's character... interesting. Hm well we will see what you guys think after this chapter. Enjoy.))

**

* * *

**

**PART II: THE GREAT DECEPTION**

_The dumber people think you are, the more surprised they're going to be when you **kill **them._

– _William Clayton_

* * *

**Chapter 16;** Pretentious Propositions 

Darkness had fallen.

When the five Hogwarts Ambassadors had reached their own Sitting Room, no one seemed inclined to go to their rooms and sleep.

Ginny stared blankly into the fire, and Hermione stood by the window. Harry sat tensely on the sofa, and Draco loitered near the door. Ernie paced restlessly from one end of the room to the other.

"Say Franz didn't fall, just assume it," Harry intoned suddenly. "Then who did it, and why?"

Ernie stopped pacing and turned. "I think Jaime did it."

"What?" questioned Hermione. "Why?"

"Because last night we were talking and he said that Bulgarians did not deserve to walk on French soil."

"That doesn't mean he would _kill _someone," Hermione retorted softly.

Ernie answered, "He was really angry. He slammed his fist on the table. He may be mentally unstable."

"If you ask me, Krum is the most suspicious," Draco piped up. "He obviously has an anger management problem, to start with. He claims he was flying a broom at the time of Franz's murder . . . you can't fly a broom in this weather."

Draco regarded their cynical and skeptical looks with a furious glare. "Bloody hell, can't you see he has been planning this from the start? He tried to _kill_ us that day on the boat!"

"That's ridiculous, Malfoy!" Harry said. "You just hate Krum."

"Listen to this, though," Draco said. "Earlier today when I was exploring the castle I heard two suspicious people plotting, and I could have sworn one of them was Krum. They talked about 'striking' someone down, and one of the people they mentioned was _me_. Doesn't that sound like Krum to you?"

Hermione looked uneasy. "Well, your little friend Fleur isn't looking completely innocent either. She tried to talk me out of giving her Veritaserum today."

"She can't _lie,_" Draco replied impatiently. "She has Veela blood. Don't you know that?"

"I don't buy it," Hermione said haughtily.

"It's Myra," came a voice from near the fire. Ginny, who had been silent for the entire conservation, raised her head.

"What!" Harry, Draco, and Hermione all exclaimed.

"It's got to be her," Ginny persisted. "Can't you see that she has been running the show? _She _checked to see if Franz was dead, _she _got the Veritaserum . . . we are trusting her word that it really _is _Veritaserum . . . if she wanted to get away with murder, she could. She is intelligent and beautiful and everyone trusts her."

"But what motive could she possibly have for murdering Franz?" Draco asked forcefully.

Harry sighed in frustration. "What motive could any of them have, for that matter? That girl is so mysterious . . . does anyone know where she came from?"

"What about Renae, then?" asked Ernie. "Jaime told me she tranferred to Beauxbatons just this year. She literally appeared from nowhere . . . not even the French Ambassadors know who she is! And she was by far the most nervous out of all of us at the table today."

"Not to mention Michael," Hermione said darkly. "He's the most suspicious one of all! He almost said yes to my question, and he has been acting odd for days. He's definitely got something to hide."

"Don't we all?" Ginny asked suddenly. When she saw their shocked faces, her own face broke into a smile. "C'mon, guys, lighten up. I think we all need some sleep."

Everyone agreed, and they departed for their separate rooms.

A little while later, Hermione stepped into the dark hall, listening to the solitary sound of the rain. It would have been easy to forget what Draco had said about hating her in all the excitement, but for some reason she had not. How could he simultaneously hate her while thinking she was smart and beautiful?

_I hate you for being the only–_

The only what?

A hand clamped down on her shoulder.

She very nearly screamed, but a moment later Harry's comforting face appeared in her vision.

"Harry? Are you crazy! You scared me half to death! You don't sneak up on a girl who is walking alone down a dark corridor the night that someone has died!"

"I'm sorry," Harry said with a small smile. "When you put it _that_ way . . ."

"What's going on?" she asked him.

"I just . . ." he glanced around, and took a deep breath. "I just wanted to tell you that we forgot to mention a very important suspect back there."

"Really?" asked Hermione curiously. "Who?"

Harry stared at her disconcertingly.

"Me," he said simply.

Lightning flashed and illuminated his face.

"What?"

"I'm just kidding," he said, a huge grin splitting his face. "You should have seen the look on your face–"

She responded by smacking him firmly against the chest. "Cut it out, Harry Potter. Is that what you followed me for? To scare me into having a heart attack?"

"No, actually," he said, sobering. "I was serious about the suspect thing. We didn't mention Malfoy, is what I really meant."

Hermione got a sick, cold feeling in her stomach. "Malfoy? What do you mean?"

"I mean that _he _is the most suspicious of us all. How can you be sure that he wasn't the one trying to kill us on the boat trip? His story today was obviously contrived about where he was at the time of Franz's death, and none of this has seemed a bit surprising to him. Besides, he's pure evil, we know that already. As far as I'm concerned, he's the most dangerous of us all. Be careful around him, okay?"

"I . . . I don't know," she said softly. Something disturbed her greatly about the idea that Malfoy had killed Franz. Perhaps it was because he had been near her for so very long. Perhaps it was because since he hated her, she could be his next victim. Perhaps it was another reason entirely.

She was afraid to fall asleep because of nightmares, but at last she reasoned that no nightmare was worse than the one she was already living.

* * *

FACT:_ Inscribed on King Arthur's grave is the saying, "Once and Future King." There are many who believe that King Arthur may have a descendent, who will rule again. _

Lupin's head was spinning as he walked down the bustling Diagon Alley. It was a cloudy day and smelled of chimney smoke, antique books, and roasting coffee. Two wizard children played underfoot, laughing and waving imaginary wands at each other.

He strolled into a busy café, his arms full of books, and seated himself at a discreet corner near the back of the shop.

Was it possible that this legendary object was real? Even more mind boggling; was it actually at _Stonehenge_?

He had looked up and taken out all of the books that he could find on Stonehenge. Lupin preferred to do research as most writers preferred to write; in a coffee shop full of sounds and ideas. The smell of coffee, the brightness, and the snippets of conversation often helped him make connections.

He opened his first book, titled _A Quick and Relatively Uninteresting History of Stonehenge. _What kind of author would name a book that? He contemplated this and found himself amused.

"And how would you like your coffee, sir?" came a voice from somewhere very close. Lupin jumped and nearly dropped the book.

He sighed, and gazed down at the teacup that had yelled at him. Usually the teacups in coffee shops didn't say anything unless you asked them. This one, however, seemed rather outspoken.

"Oh . . ." Lupin started, " . . . no coffee, thank you."

He turned back to his book and began to read in earnest about Stonehenge.

"Tea, then!" the teacup exclaimed obtrusively.

Lupin closed his eyes, trying not to receive a headache.

"Erm, yes . . . tea would be wonderful."

There was silence. He sighed in relief, turning back to the book.

"Green or black!" it practically yelled.

"Black!" Lupin cried, losing his temper completely. "And put sugar in it!"

The teacup seemed to shrink back, but black tea appeared all the same.

Taking a deep breath, he turned back to the ill-titled book. After a few minutes of skimming, he came across a point of interest.

"Stonehenge was supposedly built by the Druids," he said, wonder in his tone.

"Ye-as. It was," came a voice to his left. It was not the teacup this time (thank Merlin), but a rather short man with a black top hat pulled over his eyes. He had a funny, lilting sort of accent that Lupin couldn't place. "Strange lot, those Druids were. In the dictionary a Druid is defined as 'an ancient Celtic priest, magician, or soothsayer of Gaul, Britain, or Ireland.' But if y' ask me, there was a little bit more to 'em then that. They were wizards, no doubt, and powerful ones, a' that."

Lupin raised an eyebrow. He thought it rather odd that a stranger would strike up a conversation out of the blue, and even odder that the stranger had recited the dictionary definition of 'Druid' off of the top of his head.

"Well," began Lupin quietly, interested despite himself, "it has long been speculated that the Druids were some breed of Wizards. It's just that there has been no historical evidence . . . documents, or otherwise . . . drudged up about their actual existence. An enigma in history, if you will."

"All depends on how you look a' the thing, my pa'd always say. There's clues all over 'bout them Druids, that's a fact. You just got to look in the right places, is all," the suspicious man said boldly.

Lupin frowned. "It's almost as if they on purposely covered up evidence that they existed . . . but why?"

The man pulled back the sleeve of his coat to reveal and odd, whirling gadget that Lupin could only guess was a watch.

"A worthy question, me friend, one I wish I could talk to ya more about. Jus' remember that the clues to a mystery are often were you'd least expect them to be."

And with a wink, the man stood up and Apparated away.

Lupin frowned and wondered what to make of the little odd man he had seen. A planted spy, perhaps? Or merely a curious stranger who had knowledge about Stonehenge?

Lupin thought back to the question Dumbledore had asked him. _Why don't you just visit Stonehenge itself and begin searching? _

But as Lupin had told Dumbledore, Stonehenge was far too large to simply search at random. It would take weeks, especially since Lupin didn't have the slightest inclination as to what medium the object had been hidden through. For all he knew it could be draped under an invisibility cloak, warded, buried, or closed off by a protective gauntlet Circle that required a code. The bottom line was that he needed more information.

He turned to a short article.

_This gargantuan monolithic structure, built by the mysterious Druids, is not merely a religious monument, as was formerly believed. If deciphered properly, Stonehenge is an intricate and informative astronomical map. By decoding Stonehenge, astronomers have been able to detect a 56 year cycle of eclipses. Furthermore, the time it takes for the moon to return to the same large rock (or node), on Stonehenge is 27.2 days– what astronomers now call a "Draconic Month". Its measurements of lunar and solar movement are so accurate, in fact, that it outdoes many star charts modern astronomers have created today. Stonehenge is still shrouded in mystery, and astronomers do not claim to understand everything that it measures. Its uses in the past are widely unknown. Astronomers search to uncover more of its hidden uses, but seem to get no closer to a revelation as time wears on._

The article ended there but left Lupin with far more information than he had started with. A line from the poem jumped out at him suddenly.

_The veil of **stars** has drawn to a close_ . . .

_**Starlight shines on the eye. **_

Yet another reference to stars. Was it all a coincidence, or was there some sort of clue in the stars _themselves_?

The lost history of the Druids seemed to be the key to everything. Discover that, and the rest of the clues would fall into place.

_Jus' remember that the clues to a mystery are often where you'd least expect them._

Slowly, he was figuring it out. He only hoped that by the time he was finished, it wasn't already too late.

* * *

"You have done well," Voldemort said softly, his voice like crackling flame. "I doubt Dumbledore's half breed has deciphered the riddle as quickly as you. But what you have discovered . . . you are sure it is true?" 

"Positive, my Lord. The ties between King Arthur and Stonehenge are far too great to be mere coincidence," the nameless figure stated. "All of the clues point to this one startling truth . . . but we must be patient."

"It is unbelievable. This fact you have uncovered will change the foundation of my regime . . . it will shock the world. Not only that, but it will lead us directly to the object that I desire . . . is there no way we can speed up the process?"

"There is no way to change that which is written in the stars, my Lord."

"And of the Descendent?"

"There is only one who fits all of the descriptions . . ." the servant looked reluctant, " . . . and it is Harry Potter."

Voldemort spat bitterly on the floor.

"How can you be sure?"

"He is the great king reborn, My Lord. He is of the correct age and we can easily believe that he is descended from the royal bloodline."

"In that case, all of our plans rely on Draco luring the boy away when the time comes . . . I will inform his father of this. Our plans are coming together nicely. You have brilliance that few possess. Now go, and if anything new arises, inform me."

* * *

A girl gasped as she read the words. 

_**Starlight shines on the eye. **_

And suddenly everything fell into place.

There was only one thing to do, it seemed. It was unthinkable, but she would do it.

She would _have _to do it.

* * *

Hermione awoke to the sound of thunder booming nearby. It was still raining. 

She looked out of the window and saw only grey. The grey reminded her of the person she was trying to forget. His eyes and his hair and his voice, smooth like the rain . . .

Why did her mind never seem to wander far from him? It had only been one dance, five minutes at most, and yet she dwelt on every moment on it.

She didn't understand what fascinated her so about Malfoy. Perhaps it was that for the life of her, she couldn't figure him out. He was a beautiful and malicious creature, and a flawless actor, and an excellent dancer, and a cruel young man. He was a shrewd manipulator. Everything she had always wanted and everything she had always despised.

And he hated her. He hated her more than he had ever hated anyone.

The question she couldn't seem to answer was: did she hate him too?

_Of course I do, _Hermione thought. _I always have. He is nothing but a heartless puppet for his father, nothing but a liar and an actor and an enemy. Yes, an enemy. And a dangerous one. _

The sad truth was that the Mudblood girl and the Pureblood boy, the best friend of Harry Potter and the son of Lucius Malfoy were forever destined to be on opposite sides of a war that would probably kill them both.

* * *

It was late afternoon, three or four o'clock. Rain spattered the windows uncontrollably, an unbridled animal. 

Hermione, despite Harry's warnings, had decided to take a walk. Instead of heading downstairs as she usually would have, she headed up. She climbed a flight of stairs and was surprised at what she found. The stairs opened up into an outdoor garden. The garden itself was large and opened to the sky, but it was surrounded by thick pathways with overhangs. The overhangs formed a pentagon around the garden. Despite the chill, everything in the garden remained green, and black soil under the grass looked soft and malleable. It seemed odd to see nature again. In a castle in the sky there had been very little of it.

She could hear the pouring of rain, and feel the cold air, refreshing and relieving after the formality of the Beauxbatons castle. Perhaps it was the sound of the rain that drowned out the sound of footsteps on the stone floor behind her.

She slowly reached a hand out from the overhang and felt raindrops touch it unfadingly, randomly. It was pouring. The lance of cold through her hand shocked her; perhaps it would awaken her from the dreamlike state she had been living in.

"What are you doing?" came a cool voice from behind her. She was reminded of Bulgaria, that morning on the balcony, when he had opened the door and she had known it was him before he had even spoken. She turned around slowly, facing him at last.

He was standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets and amused expression fully intact. He was so forcefully Draco Malfoy in that moment that she didn't know what to do with him.

"Thinking," Hermione said flatly. "Just thinking."

Here was the one person Harry had told her to stay away from, the one person she had been hoping and dreading to see. She was alone with him in a secluded part of the castle.

"About the murder, no doubt," Draco drawled lazily, "and you're thinking right now that it isn't a good idea to be alone with me."

"Something like that," Hermione said with a small smile.

"I'll assure you that my intentions are completely criminal," Draco said whimsically, an air of amusement about him.

Hermione asked, "Why do you hate me so much? And what were you going to say last night when you were under Veritaserum?"

"To the former, I would venture to say that it is a bit obvious why I hate you. Wasn't I born to hate you? Don't you represent everything I am pitted against? Don't I represent everything _you _despise? As for the latter, I'm afraid I am disinclined to discuss that particular statement."

He looked at her steadily, and his eyes seemed oddly bright in the weak afternoon light.

"Can you do something for me, then?" Hermione asked with a small frown.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "That would all depend on what it is you want."

"I'm sure you'll find this one easy," Hermione continued, soft bitterness in her voice. "Do something awful to me."

"What?"

Draco, who never seemed surprised, was taken aback by this.

"C'mon, then," she continued impatiently. "Do something awful. Throw an insult at me. Belittle my family and bloodline. Tell me how ugly I am. Slap me across the face. Give me an overview of how many Muggle-borns you've tortured."

He looked surprised and confused.

"But I haven't tortured any Muggle-borns," Draco said with a shrug, "at least not this week. And more importantly, why? Why should I do something awful?"

"Just do it," she said vehemently. She seemed so intent that he was forced to consider it. "It's what you're best at."

So in less than a second he had covered the space between them and given her a slight shove. It wasn't enough to hurt her, but she was surprised and thrown off balance. She staggered backwards out from under the overhang and into the pouring rain. She fumbled on the slippery grass for balance and at last froze, too shocked to move.

She spluttered, feeling rather as if she were underwater. "That _was _awful," she observed as the pouring rain soaked through her clothes in a matter of seconds. They were suddenly very heavy and clung to her shape, accentuating the lines and curves of her body. "But it didn't work."

"_What _didn't work?" Draco asked, more confused than he had ever been. She didn't make a move to find shelter under the overhang, but merely stood in the pouring rain, sopping wet as lightning flashed above her.

Without warning, she grabbed the front of his robes and pulled him out from under the overhang. He cried out in surprise as his highly expensive robes became soiled in the relentless downpour. Rain pounded in their ears.

He swore. "Bloody hell, Granger, look what you've done now. Haven't you ever heard of water stains? These clothes are worth more than Weasely's entire house . . . what was that for, huh? Now we're both sopping wet!" he exclaimed angrily.

But the truth was, he had a thousand more clothes like them at home. He couldn't help a small smile escaping onto his lips. Any notion Hermione had that he would be angry with her was squashed. He merely looked amused, and it infuriated her beyond good judgement.

So she slapped him across the face. "I _hate _you!"

Hermione turned and began walking quickly away, but not toward the overhang. She walked deeper into the center of the garden.

Draco, failing to understand what had possibly provoked the slap, raced after her.

"Granger! Wait!" he called, and grabbed her wrist as he caught up with her. She whirled around, pink patches high on her cheeks.

His hand was hot on her wrist and his robes had slipped down his shoulders in the rain. Underneath was a plastered white shirt, unbuttoned to his collarbone. His hair was drenched and plastered around his face. Droplets of water gathered on his feather fine eyelashes, and silver eyes seemed heated in the cold.

"Damn you, Draco Malfoy," she ranted angrily. Tears ran down her face unheeded in the torrential downpour. "I have tried _so hard _to hate you! Ever since this trip began, I have tried to hate you with all of my heart! I _should _hate you. You're awful. You're a lying, cheating, beautiful, malicious excuse for a human being! And you hate me too. Why is it so bloody hard to hate you back?"

Draco looked outraged. "You– standing there in the rain– you . . .!"

"Do something awful, Malfoy!" Hermione cut him off loudly and rudely. She had never lost control. "Do something awful so that every time I look at you my heart doesn't pound uncontrollably. Do something awful so that every time I think about you my stomach doesn't flip over. Do something horrendous so that it will take away the memory of that dance that plays through my mind like a broken record! Do something awful! Because standing here in the pouring rain staring at you is _killing _me!"

There was silence after her outburst, and she gasped for air. A one worded response came from Draco.

"Okay."

He did the most awful thing he could think of. He grabbed her around the waist and pressed his lips to hers, stifling the gasp of surprise.

Rain poured down on the two of them, dynamic in the center of the garden, and the water slid down her shirt and her face and got into her eyes, but she scarcely noticed. She froze for two terrifying moments, and then her lips relaxed against his. He took this as an invitation to continue and massaged her lips persistently with his own. His hands moved slowly down her back, leaving burning trails of destruction in their wake. It was freezing cold, and the heat around them seemed to intensify threefold. When he ended the kiss, she didn't pull away.

Their breath was ragged, and heat radiated from them both, although they were drenched to the bone.

"Do you hate me yet?" Draco asked between gasps.

Hermione expelled a breath slowly, but could not calm herself. "Getting closer," she whispered.

Draco pushed her hair away from her face and took her head in both hands. Another wave of heat overcame her, this one almost buckling her knees. She did not stop to think about what she was doing, not even once. It was as if all the emotion in the past two weeks was pressure packed into this one moment, like a muggle can of Lysol.

As for Draco, he hadn't expected to react in the way he had. He kissed her because he had wanted to get revenge (or so he had told himself). But now, standing in the rain with Hermione Granger seemed like something he had been waiting to do all his life. Her body was soft and warm, her face pure and honest and sharp in a way that Fleur's would never be.

He kissed her again, hard, and she was surprised at the intensity of the kiss. Draco Malfoy was always cool, calm calculated. Hermione was always thoughtful, practical, and logical. What drove these two to have such a violent effect on one another?

Hermione was aware of moving backwards; of feeling a wall hit her back, of feeling soil at her feet. Draco's thin white shirt was plastered solidly to his chest. The taste of fresh rain was mingled in their kisses and Draco's hair like starlight caught the glint of gray.

And then he gave her a kiss that only came around once in a while, once in a lifetime, for some. The air started crackling, softly at first, but soon was roaring, and a shower of fireworks encompassed them both. Reds, golds, and greens spurted from nowhere and Draco let her go, surprised. The show ended abruptly, but had been loud enough to rouse the entire school. It was only a few moments until they heard quick footsteps approaching.

"You have to get out of here!" Draco gasped. "Go that way!"

He pointed in the opposite direction of the footsteps. Still stunned, she turned and walked quickly under the overhang and down a flight of stairs.

She was shaking, and it most definitely was not from the cold.

((**A.N. **Next chapter there are secret meetings, spontaneous screams, at least three twists, and another encounter between a certain boy and girl. Who is the most suspicious now? Review!))


	17. Night of the Nameless

((**A.N. **Well here's Chapter 17. I'm amazed by some of the insightful, advanced, **correct **theories some of you guys have about the mystery and the Lupin plot. Wow my readers are so smart. Enjoy the chapter!))

**

* * *

PART II: THE GREAT DECEPTION **

_Immobilized by the sound of you_

_Paralyzed by the sight of you_

_Hypnotized by the words you say_

_Not true but I **believe them anyway**_.

– _Shiver, Maroon Five_

* * *

**Chapter 17**; Night of the Nameless 

Hermione decided to go back to the Sitting Room and act primly as if nothing had happened.

Yes, avoidance was the key in this case. Avoidance was definitely the key.

But something _had_ happened.

The fireworks. It was rumoured that when two magical people shared a True Kiss, any magic in the air around them would react violently. Often a witch and wizard did not know if they shared a True Kiss, because no magic was present in the air. But Hermione and Draco had been standing in the middle of a magic storm. Magic had been pouring down around them. Magic was on their faces and in the hair and on their clothes. It had reacted violently when they had kissed.

There was still the fact that it had been a True Kiss. True kisses only happened once in a lifetime for most couples. She remembered Molly Weasley gushing about her True Kiss. She and Arthur had been dating for eight months, and he kissed her on a starlit beach. At that moment, a thousand shooting stars shot across the sky and lit up the night like the blazing sun.

Sirius, before he died, told Ron and Hermione about his True Kiss. He did not, for whatever reason, tell them whom he had shared it with. On an autumn night, the leaves blowing around them had all burst into flame, swirling around them in a torrential light show before winking harmlessly out.

However, there were some couples who were very much in love and never shared a True Kiss. The kisses were special and extremely rare.

Hermione knew that no one was certain what constituted a True Kiss, that it was only something that happened when two people felt a very strong emotion for each other.

There was truth in what she had said to Draco before she had kissed him. She hadn't known the words were true until they had come out of her mouth. She _did _think about him constantly, she did dream about him, and she wasn't nearly close enough to hating him as she would have liked.

Could she play off the kiss as just a fit of hormones? She reasoned that it probably _had_ been just a fit of hormones. Any girl who _didn't_ want to kiss a wet Draco Malfoy in the pouring rain had to be out of her right mind.

It wasn't as if she had wondered what it would be like to kiss him before that.

It wasn't as if she had dreamed about him since Bulgaria.

It wasn't as if she had dwelt on his perfect features many times before.

It wasn't any of those things.

Just a fit of hormones.

She performed a drying spell on herself and took a few deep breaths before opening the door to the Sitting Room. Harry and Ginny sat inside, both looking intently at one another.

"Well, it's not my fault that–" but Ginny stopped talking when she saw Hermione.

"Hey," Harry said lightly, turning to Hermione. Clueless, she wondered what they possibly could have been talking about.

She sat down next to Harry, hoping she looked normal. So far, so good. "What's going on?" she asked casually.

"Nothing at all," replied Ginny quietly. "Harry and I were just having a discussion. It's over now, although it should have been over ten minutes ago."

Hermione looked confusedly between the two, and at last realized it had not been a good time to intrude.

"Well," Hermione said, "it's about thirty minutes until dinnertime and I need to wash up and change. I'll be back here in a while. See you then!"

With a smile she stood up and opened the door, congratulating herself on fooling them well.

"Just one thing, Hermione," Harry started casually. "Who have you been kissing?"

She turned around, comically wide-eyed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean who have you been kissing? Your lips are all swollen," Harry said with a grin, touching his fingers to his own lips. "Was it Krum?"

"Harry!" she cried, exasperated. He knew her too well.

"You don't have to tell me who it was," said Harry diplomatically, "but you _have_ been kissing someone. Your eyes are too bright."

Ginny turned a delighted grin on Harry and then stifled it quickly.

Hermione slammed the common room door shut without another word.

* * *

Dinner came more quickly than Hermione would have liked. She needed more time to stay in her room and think. 

She had performed an anti-inflammatory charm on her lips, done several deep breathing exercises, and gone into a state of denial so deep that she doubted she would admit the truth even it banged her over the head repeatedly. It still poured relentlessly, though, looking out the window, she could only see rain when lightning flashed. The night was pitch black.

Hermione stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind her. Why hadn't Madame Maxine found a way into the castle? What was happening in the outside world?

"Hermione."

She whirled around to see Myra standing behind her. Where had _she_ come from? Hermione remembered Ginny's words about Myra, and her heart began pounding. Should she run? Should she cry out?

"I was just walking to my Sitting Room," Hermione said calmly, instead.

"I'll walk you there," said Myra with a smile.

Confused, Hermione turned and began walking. Myra caught up with her quickly.

"Have you noticed anything suspicious? Anything at all?" Myra asked suddenly.

"Well of course I . . . what?" Hermione asked quietly.

Myra suddenly whirled around, her dark eyes flashing. "This is important, Hermione. There are a lot of people playing games in zis castle and I want to get to the bottom of it."

"Games?" Hermione repeated faintly.

"Lies and deception, 'Ermione. Above all, there is a great deception. I must discover it before it gets out of control."

"Listen, Myra," said Hermione, shifting uncomfortably, "I know you want to figure this out . . . we all do. But if you pry into other people's business like you're doing now, you're going to get yourself in trouble. Do you understand what I mean?"

"You mean zat ze murderer will kill me because I know too much? I am not worried about that."

"Why not?"

They had reached the Sitting Room and Hermione had her hand on the doorknob. She wanted to get away from Myra as fast as possible.

"I am just not worried," Myra said shortly.

"I will tell you this much, for what it's worth," Hermione conceded. "It is not me or Harry. Harry was with me at the time of the murder. We will testify for each other."

Myra nodded. "I will take your word, 'Ermione. I believe you."

"Thanks," said Hermione, before opening the door.

Draco was inside, looking unruffled and immaculate as ever. Had her encounter with him been a dream?

"I disagree," he said firmly to Harry.

Harry shook his head. "Today is just not my day for arguments, is it?" he said loudly. Upon seeing Hermione, Harry beckoned her over.

"Hermione," he said entreatingly. "Please tell me I'm correct. Does it seem like Ginny is acting a little reclusive these days?"

Hermione glanced from Draco, who looked blank, to Harry, who looked full of conviction.

"I don't think so . . . actually, no, Harry, not at all. Just last week she was dancing on a table in a crowded bar with you. I would have to say . . . no, not at all."

"She's acting suspicious," said Harry stubbornly. "There's something going on, but I just can't put my finger on it . . ."

Ginny walked in just then, and Draco made a loud comment about the weather. Since when had Draco covered up for Harry?

He looked at her once and only once in the time they walked down to dinner. His expression was calm, controlled . . . but was there something wavering in it? A tiny hint of the tumultuous emotion behind his gaze?

The round table still sat at the center of the room, and the French Ambassadors were already seated, talking quietly amongst themselves.

Hermione took a seat next Jaime hesitantly. _Why do I always have to sit next to him? _Hermione thought, flashing an annoyed gaze to Harry and Ernie, who sat on her right. Jaime looked condescending and pompous as ever. He leaned over to whisper in her ear.

"We think zat Myra may be on the verge of a breakthrough. She 'as questioned everyone individually, it seems, and she needs only to decide what is the truth."

Hermione nodded. She remembered hearing that Myra was very good at solving riddles, and what was this, really, but one complicated and deadly riddle?

Renae drummed her fingers incessantly on the tabletop, and she looked extremely nervous. At last she addressed the group.

"This whole idea is _preposterous!_ There is no murderer, I say, no murderer at all. There is nothing to suggest Franz was killed, and we all swore under Veritaserum that we had nothing to do with it. Drop it, Myra, and stop prying into other people's business before you discover something that will _really_ get you killed!"

Everyone, at this point, had turned to face her, their mouths open in shock.

"What kind of information could possibly get her . . . killed?" asked Ernie. He continued, "Do you have something to hide, Renae?"

"We all have something to hide, I'm sure," Renae replied neutrally. "Especially those so quick to accuse. Or those who search fruitlessly for someone to blame."

Any further conversation on this topic was brought to halt by the arrival of the Bulgarian Ambassadors.

The Brownies served dinner, and the conversation took a lighter tone, or so it seemed.

"Tell, me, Draco," said Ivan at one point, "have you ever been to Germany?"

Renae looked up sharply and the entire table fell silent. Glancing around, Draco took a sip of champagne.

"I have," he said slowly, "and it's a beautiful country. I would recommend western Germany if you want spectacular scenery, but southern–"

"How fascinating," Ivan intoned, sounding less than fascinated. "Pray tell . . . do you have any grasp of the German language?"

"A little, only what I picked up while I was there," Draco replied, confused at the other boy's shortness. Why did he ask if he didn't want to listen? "I'm far more fluent in French and Latin, however."

"Ah," said Ivan. "French, vhat a captivating language. How about you, Jaime? Do you speak any other languages besides French and English?"

"No," answered Jaime firmly. "English I learned only because it was mandatory . . . there is no language that comes even close to the elegance and fluidity of French, and I view all other languages as completely inferior."

Hermione laughed and replied, "A little harsh, don't you think? Especially since English has a large expanse of vocabulary compared to most other languages.I do have to agree with you, though, that French is very beautiful."

"It is," Jaime agreed, but made no response to her other claims.

Krum appeared to brood silently throughout the entire meal, his thick black eyebrows drawn together with intensity.

Fleur charmed everyone, as usual, but seemed more interested in talking to Harry. As she usually focused her attention on Draco, this was a surprising development.

When dinner finished, everyone stood up and began to say their goodnights. Myra predicted that the storm could not last much longer than two more days, and everyone was in high spirits.

It happened as they walked up the staircase to their floor.

The lights went out.

It is funny how dependent modern people have become on light. It is always present, and they take it for granted.

But miles above any city in the middle of a thunderstorm, the absence of light does not result in darkness; it results in pitch black.

Harry held a hand up to his face and did not see it. A scream rang out from higher in the castle. Hermione gasped loudly.

"What is going on? Who was that?" she worried softly.

Suddenly a yelp and a muffled scream came from where Ginny had been standing. Something thudded all down the stairs, and after that, silence reigned.

"Ginny?" asked Harry, a note of panic in his voice.

"I'm here," she called from the bottom of the stairs. "In the dark I think I took a topple and– oh–"

A small sob pierced the darkness.

"I think I broke my ankle . . . I can't move it," Ginny said softly.

"I can mend it," Hermione said automatically. She reached into her pocket and realized two things simultaneously. Firstly, her pocket was empty. Secondly, even if she did have a wand, she wouldn't have been able to use it, as the magic in the area was completely out of control due to the storm. "I think I dropped my wand in the ballroom. I'll have to go back and get it."

"Okay," said Harry, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. "I'll . . . I'll stay here with Ginny, and wait for you here, Hermione. Malfoy, Ernie, you go upstairs and see who screamed. We'll all meet back here in a few minutes."

"Okay," said Ernie and Hermione. The darkness hid Draco's smile.

* * *

Thunder rumbled above Hermione. It was harder to find the ballroom than had imagined it would be. Aside from the occasional flash of lightning that illuminated her surroundings, she had no idea where she was. 

At last, she reached the double doors of the ballroom. She pried one open and stepped inside. The thud of the heavy door closing behind her pealed sharply through the silence. The sky below her appeared dark, an unnatural sort of roiling black.

Hermione groped her way to the center table.

"Where is it now . . ." she muttered, intent on her task. The circular table felt cold under her hands, colder than she ever remembered it being.

Two things happened concurrently. Her hand landed on her wand, and she was suddenly aware of the smallest, most inconceivable sound.

With a sickening lurch she realized it was the sound of soft, even breathing.

Someone was in the room with her.

* * *

Harry made his way down to where Ginny lay. The breath coming from her throat sounded uneven and painful. He found her hand and squeezed it tightly. 

"It's alright, Ginny . . . Hermione will be here any moment, and she knows how to mend wounds . . ."

"I'm scared," Ginny said with a sniff.

"What's this?" Harry asked with a smile. "My strong Ginny, afraid of the dark?"

"I'm not afraid of the dark, Harry," she said softly, "I am _consumed _by it."

"What? What do you mean?" he asked with a frown.

"What do you think has happened? Why have the lights gone off?"

"I dunno . . . I've heard of power outages in Muggle buildings, but not wizarding ones."

"I suppose it could be an effect of the storm. Or someone could have done it purposely."

"How?"

"With a humongous _Nox _spell, I presume," continued Ginny softly.

He nodded, forgetting that she couldn't actually see it in the dark.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

Silence, for a long time.

"Never mind."

* * *

Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale . . . 

Hermione listened to this pattern, soft and almost imperceptible but consistent as the ticking of a watch. She froze. _How could I have _been _so stupid? There's a murderer loose in this castle, and I wandered off alone. For being the top student in Hogwarts, I am extraordinarily thick!_

Another sound came to her attention. The door scraped open. Hermione took this opportunity to dive to the other side of the table and duck behind it. Lightning flashed, but her view was obscured.

"I've got information on Myra!" a voice from the doorway exclaimed. "She _has _to be the–"

"Silence!" a voice to her left rasped, the voice of the breather. "There is somevone in the room vith us!"

Both voices were Bulgarian, one male and one female. Hermione felt steadily sicker.

"There is?" came the shocked female voice.

Hermione slowly began backing away from the table and toward the door. If lightning flashed, it would completely give her away. She inched forward, praying.

"If ve listen very closely, ve can hear her breathe," the male rasped in a deceptively gentle voice. "She vill not breathe for much longer . . ."

Hermione had at last reached the door, and sensed that she stood very close to the female figure. If she could somehow edge her way around . . .

A hand shot out of the dark and grabbed her shoulder firmly. With a final, desperate yell, Hermione launched herself at the girl, toppled her over and hastened out the door. She ran blindly down the hall until she came to stairs. These she ascended without bothering to puzzle out where they led. She wanted to get as far away from the ballroom as possible.

* * *

Ernie and Draco had climbed the stairs to where the scream had originated, or so Ernie had assumed. At first there had been the clattering of two pairs of feet, but now Ernie could not be sure. He stopped. 

"Malfoy?"

No answer. He was gone.

Grumbling under his breath, Ernie continued ascending the stairs. _It's just like that prat Malfoy to leave me alone, in the dark, on a stormy night, in a terrifying castle, with a bloody maniacal killer on the loose and no light and no idea where I am . . ._

_Stop it, _Ernie chided himself. He would be fine. Now where had that scream come from?

He let out a yelp of epic proportions as he smashed head on into a warm, soft . . . something. The something emitted a high frequency screech.

"Who eez zere?" questioned a decidedly female voice.

"It's Ernie," he said quickly. "Fleur? Is that you? Sorry!"

"Ernie!" she cried. "'Ave you seen 'Arry? I _must _talk to him, and now."

"I . . . well . . . last I heard he was downstairs with Ginny. She's broken her ankle, I think. Did you hear that scream?"

"Yes . . ." Fleur answered, obviously distracted. "I must go!"

She raced off without another word.

_What is going on tonight? _Ernie wondered helplessly. _The dark is making people crazy!_

He continued on, feeling as if he was on a false mission. What if the scream had merely been one of fright and not distress? He cringed as he remembered that it sounded bloodcurdling.

"Who's there?" a voice called out sharply. It was female also.

"It's . . . it's Ernie Macmillan. Who are you?" Ernie called, straining to see anything at all in the pitch black.

"It is Myra," came her oddly melodious voice. A flash of lightning illuminated the scene, and briefly he made out the dark, alluring line of her jaw. Something eerie resided behind her eyes, and she stared at him as if she had been able to see him all along.

"I'm glad it's you," said Ernie quickly. Myra always seemed to know what to do in times of crisis. "Did you hear a scream a few minutes ago?"

"I did," replied Myra. "That is why I came up here."

"It wasn't Ginny or Hermione," Ernie deduced. "They were with me."

"Nor was it Renae, Fleur, or I," Myra added. "It had to be Hilda or Ava."

"Myra . . ." started Ernie, "what's going on? If there is anyone who could figure this out, it would be you. I've heard you are on to something. Is there anything you can tell me? It seems like _everyone _is sneaking around and acting suspicious."

He stepped closer to her voice. Facing her, he could barely make out the liquid black glint of her eyes. She sighed.

"It is so complicated . . . the heart of this mystery, if I am correct, goes far beyond these walls, these insignificant people."

She spoke so softly he had to strain to hear her. "And there is more than one secret inside of this . . ."

Her voice trailed off, and Ernie barely saw the pupils of her eyes dilate. At first he thought she was staring at him, but the realization came that she was staring at something _behind _him.

Someone shoved him brutally to the side, and he stood frozen for just long enough to see Myra dodge to the side. Then he began running as fast as he could in the other direction.

He was not a bloody Gryffindor and he would not save Myra from harm. He was done with nameless encounters.

* * *

Hermione stopped running after a while and gasped for air. What had _that _been? Some kind of secret meeting? She was convinced now that one of the Bulgarians was the murderer. But why had they murdered one of their own Ambassadors? Very little made sense at that point. 

She stopped dead in the middle of the hall. She had a _feeling, _the kind of feeling animals got right before a tornado or an electrical storm. A prickling of her neck, a tightening in her chest, senses suddenly in overdrive.

_I should not go one step farther._

Slowly, she began backing away, backing away . . .

She backed right into a pair of open arms.

Hermione tried to scream but a hand covered her mouth. The lights flared into existence suddenly, blinding her, and strong hand whirled her around. She faced Malfoy, who looked silvery and beautiful and malicious as ever in the blinding light.

He regarded her silently for a few moments.

"I just don't know what I'm going to do about you, Miss Granger," he said. He pushed her backwards very slowly. She realized suddenly why she had stopped running. She would have smacked right into a dead end. Her back hit the wall. Torn suddenly between fear and something else, she tried to disengage his arms as her eyes adjusted to the light.

"Let me go, Malfoy."

She said it ten times more calmly than she felt. Emotions tore her up.

"You didn't want me to let you go when we were dancing," Malfoy whispered. "You didn't want me to let you go earlier this evening."

With a sickening lurch she realized she still didn't want him to let her go. The feeling of his hands around her waist made her heart race uncontrollably.

"I don't know what I'm going to do with you," Malfoy continued calmly, "because I can't _stand _to be around you. You're a self-righteous, frizzy-haired know-it-all. You're a tasteless, penniless Mudblood and I cannot think of _one person _of my acquaintance that would approve of you. Yet here we are, Granger, and I can't make myself let go."

Hermione surprised him by laughing out loud. It was a bold sort of laugh that shook the walls. Then she stared at him, jaw clenched.

"Cut the bullshit, Malfoy. You're lying through your perfectly straight teeth, because that's what you do. You _lie. _And the one time I _knew _you were telling the truth, you said that you despised me more than anyone you'd ever met. Frankly, I find it very hard to believe that you can't let go of me."

He responded by bringing a hand up to her face and tracing her jaw line with his finger ever so lightly. There was something carnal behind this movement, something implied.

"Well, start believing it," he said softly, slowly.

She had sorted it out all logically in her head. There were reasons why she shouldn't trust him, there were reasons why she should get away from him, but her logic shattered to a thousand pieces when his hand touched her face.

"Okay," she said simply.

He stepped away from her, but she didn't make a move to leave. She looked at him steadily, and watched a smirk flash across his face. When he spoke, it sounded less dangerous than before.

"By the way . . . do you hate me yet? I tried my very hardest this afternoon, but I'm not sure it worked . . ."

Hermione brought a finger to her lips and looked falsely pensive. The brightness in her eyes didn't have anything to do with the newly lit hallway.

"Hm . . . I can't say I hate you . . . at least not _quite _yet . . ."

"Then I suppose you are in dire need of some more convincing," he murmured, stepping toward Hermione again.

When his lips met hers for the second time, it was completely different. This was not a rough, split second kiss in the pouring rain. She had expected this one, and she participated fully instead of letting Malfoy do the work. This was a slow, soft, consensual kiss, and she barely had enough time to realize that Malfoy was an excellent, engaging, and unfairly wonderful kisser before her mind slipped into perpetual bliss.

He was warm and solid and gentle against her, he was everything she wanted and he was . . . Draco Malfoy.

She pushed him away firmly as this realization hit her full force.

Draco stepped back, disappointment obvious in his eyes. She had practically _asked _him to kiss her. Why had she freaked out?

There were two halves of Hermione's brain, and they had completely contrasting views about the matter at hand.

_No! _one screamed forlornly. _What are you doing! Where did his lips go? Kiss him, tackle him, anything but push him away!_

The other one whispered his name viciously over and over again in her head.

"This is wrong," she said abruptly, biting her lip. She looked breathless and pretty in the recently renewed light, cheeks flushed with exertion.

Draco looked at her with sordid disbelief. "And here I was, Granger, assuming that this was _right._ Assuming that the red-haired neanderthal and Golden Boy wouldn't pound the crap out of me if they knew what we were doing. Assuming that the Slytherin house would welcome you with open arms. Assuming that I could bring you home to dear old dad and ask for his _blessing._"

Draco spat the last word as if it tasted awful. "You think this is wrong? Well five points to Gryffindor for _that _brilliant insight."

Hermione looked at him, and then quickly resorted to looking anywhere _but _at him. In five seconds he had turned from suave, charming, gentle Malfoy to cool, sarcastic, cutting Malfoy. She could hate him for that.

"This isn't logical, Malfoy . . . if you think it through, the cons heavily outweigh the pros . . ."

"Damn you, Granger!" Malfoy cried angrily, smashing his hand against the wall. "This isn't a test question, this isn't an exam, this isn't a sodding riddle or game or textbook passage! Stop trying to figure out everything logically because the real world isn't logical. I guess you're going to learn that the hard way someday."

Hermione froze at his words. Of course the world was logical. Well, most of it.

"You're wrong about that," Hermione said quietly.

Thunder crackled above them and Hermione got jump-started back into reality.

The lights had come on. How had that happened? Why was there a dead end in the castle? Why was Malfoy giving her that eerie, disconcerting look?

"Why did the lights come on?" she asked him abruptly.

"If you mean why did they go off in the first place, it could be because of the storm, which is getting stronger. It could also be because someone cast a _Nox _charm over the whole castle. Why are you asking me, Granger? I thought you were supposed to be intelligent."

"And I thought _you _were supposed to be 'charming' and 'witty,'" she retorted, quoting _Witch Weekly. _She turned around and walked briskly away.

Malfoy caught up with her quickly. "Where are you going?" he asked curiously, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"You're not supposed to be following me," Hermione told him imperiously. A small smile played at her lips. "You hate me, remember? You said so under Veritaserum. I can certainly take a hint."

She was being evasive and silly and coy and they both knew it. She strode down the hall faster, heading for her own room.

"Come now, Granger. I had my reasons for saying that I hated you."

"Was one of them because you _do?_"

"Yes," Malfoy answered in an impatient tone, "but that doesn't mean–"

"That you can't kiss me whenever you like?" Hermione whirled on him, eyes flashing half with malice and half with cold amusement. She placed her hand on the door of her own bedroom, which she had led them to without Draco even realizing it. She spoke clearly and heatedly, "You just want to get me into the sack and you _know it!_"

With that she wrenched open the door dramatically and slammed it in his face as she stepped inside. She burst into silent laughter once she had locked it.

"What . . . Granger!" roared Malfoy, infuriated. He pounded on the door incessantly. "If I wanted to get you into the sack, you would already be _in it!_"

His words echoed through the halls outside and she couldn't help but grinning broadly at the amount of indignation in his voice.

After a moment, the pounding stopped and the footsteps faded into the distance.

((**A.N.** And there you have it. Lots of suspicious things going on, aren't there? Next chapter Draco comes up with an evil plan, and someone else dies... but why? A review, anyone?))


	18. Fallacious Fears

((**A.N. **This chapter's a day late but give me a break, it's Easter weekend. Ya'll are super wonderful for the great reviews! Happy holidays and enjoy. ;D))

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* * *

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**PART II: THE GREAT DECEPTION**

_We are never deceived; we deceive** ourselves**._

_Johann Wolfgang von Goethe_

* * *

**Chapter 18; **Fallacious Fears 

The next morning dawned with a great deal more cheerfulness than it might have.

Hermione entered the Sitting Room and noticed that no one had been decapitated, murdered, or come by any other means of harm. No one sharpened knives in the corner or looked diabolical, Harry and Draco had not attacked each other as of yet . . .

_All in all, a good start to the day,_ she noted wryly.

Draco gave her one seething glance filled with quite a bit of ill-masked humor, and she stuck her nose up imperiously.

Harry, who was by now used to not knowing what went on between them, merely shrugged his shoulders.

Hermione felt strangely carefree for someone who was locked in a castle with a definite murderer. Odd, how these things worked.

"Hermione, you're here," said Ernie with a certain amount of keenness, standing up. "Now we can all discuss last night. Let's have a little sharing time, shall we?" There was a bitter edge to his voice that she rarely heard. He paced in front of the fire place. "Let me start. I first ran into a frantic Fleur, who asked to talk to Harry. I pointed her in the right direction. Then I ran into Myra, who acted odd and only spoke in vague riddles and then I almost GOT MY HEAD CHOPPED OFF BY SOME HULKING AXE MURDERER! God! How could I have _been _such an idiot, running off _alone_ like that? Oh . . . wait. Hold on here . . . I didn't go alone. Malfoy was supposed to be with me!" he brought himself up short and rounded on Draco, who looked back at him with a mixture of surprise and amusement. "Care to enlighten me as to why you left me alone, you brain dead prat?"

"I thought I heard a sound from down the hall," Malfoy answered casually, "so I went off to check it out. I didn't think you'd wet yourself if I wasn't there to protect you. A huge misconception on my part, obviously."

The rude sneer on his face caused Ernie to turn purple. "You_ idiot_–" Ernie started, but Hermione cut him off.

"I'm not deterring you from biting Malfoy's head off, Ernie. On the contrary, I commend you and indeed support you in any and all barbaric endeavors toward that slimy git, but do you think it could wait until after I tell my story? I had a rather interesting night as well. I went into the ballroom to get my wand, and . . ."

She told them in detail about her experience, leaving out the part about meeting up with Draco.

"Well," said Ernie, who had calmed over the length of her story, "Fleur assured me that the scream hadn't come from Myra or Renae of herself. We know it didn't come from either of you two, and Hermione claims that there was a Bulgarian girl in the ballroom not two minutes after a scream that came from upstairs. If we could figure out who was in the ballroom with Hermione then we know who screamed. In either case, both Bulgarian girls are looking highly suspicious. But why did she scream?"

"I have no idea," Harry said faintly. "Gin and I just sat around until the lights came on, and I helped her to her room. We didn't know any of this stuff was going on."

"This is just too confusing," Ginny said from the corner. It turned out that her ankle was sprained, not broken, and she had fashioned a makeshift sling for it out of some cloth. "Hermione says two sinister Bulgarians lurked in the ballroom at about the same time Ernie and Myra got attacked upstairs. How is that possible?"

They spent a few more minutes puzzling over the events of the previous night, and then decided to walk down to the ballroom, which had become the unofficial meeting place of the three groups.

Hermione gazed out at the rain, unrelenting despite its monotone, and the sky seemed to open up, to engulf her in all of its dark glory. She stared hard, as if she could decipher the mystery just by analyzing the shapes of the clouds.

SMACK.

Hermione yelped as a dark shape emerged from the desolate grey and smacked into the window. She covered her mouth in horror as a bloody crow slid down the sill.

The crow disconcerted Hermione greatly as she stepped into the hall. She couldn't get the bloody, smashed image out of her head.

* * *

The Ballroom was in an uproar when the Hogwart's Ambassadors arrived. 

Krum yelled incoherently, and Fleur screeched back with equal ardour. Renae paced nervously, and Ivan and Hilda watched the scene unfold, identical dark expressions on their faces.

In the middle of all of this, Myra sat, calmly sipping tea.

"Every single one of my diamonds eez _gone!_" Fleur yelled angrily. "Someone stole zem and I _know_ it!"

"I do not know vhere your precious diamonds are!" Krum hollered back. "I am tired of being stuck in this castle vith all ov you! There must be a vay out!"

"Don't you think we would have found one, if there was a way out?" Renae called to him, ceasing her pacing in favour of glaring at Krum.

"Maybe you just don't _vant _us to get out!" Krum roared back.

An unexpected laugh sounded from Draco's direction. "I wouldn't accuse people of looking suspicious, Krum. After last night, I have no doubt it's _you_ we should be watching out for."

"What?" Hermione asked sharply, thrown by this new development. She realized that Draco had never told them what _he _had been doing all night.

Krum's face had gone a spectacular shade of purple. "I don't know vat you are talking about."

"Oh, I think you know _exactly _what I am–"

"Zis eez it!" Fleur cried dramatically. "It eez obvious that none of you care that one 1000 Galleons worth of diamonds 'ave been stolen! I am _leaving!_"

She commenced in storming dramatically past the table. On the way, she toppled Myra's teacup by accident and it smashed to the floor. Fleur glared at Myra, glared at the teacup, and transfigured a new one, tea and all, in front of Myra. Then she stormed out, glaring at the others, with her nose in the air.

Krum and Draco only stared after her a few moments before turning back to each other.

"That's right, _Krum,_" Draco said maliciously. "You've been lying, and it's time to confess."

"I have not been–"

Hermione felt a tap on her shoulder, and turned to see Myra standing at her side.

"I need to talk to you, Hermione," Myra said quietly. "Alone."

Alone? Alone was never a good thing anymore. Immediately suspicious of both Myra and her intentions, Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"Alright," she agreed reluctantly. Myra obviously knew what was going on, and Hermione was in no position to pass up new information.

She strode over to Harry, who watched the blowout between Draco and Krum with livid fascination.

"Harry," she said loudly, so that several of the others turned toward her. "I am going into the hall with Myra. I'll be back in five minutes," she announced pointedly. Harry caught her drift immediately.

"Okay," he said loudly, glancing at Myra. "If you're not back in five minutes, I'll come looking for you two."

She nodded quickly, and stalked out of the echoing ballroom with Myra.

"Make this quick," Hermione said, once they were far enough away.

"Hermione . . .do you like Krum?" Myra intoned suddenly. She had the rushed inflection of a person trying to be calm but resisting the urge to panic.

Hermione was taken aback. "Well, yeah, I think he's a good guy."

Myra pressed her hand to her forehead worriedly. "Would you ever think of dating him?"

The raven haired girl massaged her temples and closed her eyes. Hermione was reminded briefly, intensely, of the crow, smashed against the clear window.

"Well, it's crossed my mind," Hermione replied diplomatically. She did not wish to sound as if she disliked Krum.

"Hermione, stay _away _from Krum, he's . . ." she trailed off and reclined weakly against the wall.

"He's _what?_" Hermione asked desperately.

"I'm not feeling so well . . ." Myra replied shortly. When she met Hermione's gaze, her face was riddled with painful realization. She spoke quite calmly. "How could I have _been _so blind? Hermione, this isn't a murder, it's–"

She staggered against the wall, and looked as if she could barely hold herself up.

"Myra? Myra! HELP! Someone HELP!" Hermione screamed, as Myra slid down the wall, eyes rolling back in her head.

Footsteps pounded down the hall immediately, and Draco and Krum appeared first. They glanced from Myra to Hermione incredulously before demanding to know what was happening.

The other Ambassadors appeared shortly, and a frantic scramble to help the girl ensued. Because their magic was useless due to the storm, they could not perform a charm to see what ailed her. They could only see that her breathing grew more labored by the moment. At last, a tragic sort of silence fell as they realized that there was no way to help her. They watched as she closed her eyes and expelled a final breath.

She reminded Hermione of the crow crushed against the window, dark hair splayed out around her, still as the sky on awindless day and equally as remote.

Myra lay lifeless before them.

* * *

It was raining ever so lightly, and the gunmetal clouds were dark in the late autumn sky. And the sun, just beyond the veil of clouds, close as a reflection in the mirror and equally as unreachable, shattered in pieces through the sky and rendered it pearlescent. Where there was once darkness now blazed light, heavenly and pure. The drizzle, like a thousand tissue-thin sheets of starlight, drenched the landscape in liquid mercury. Silver and grey dominated the color scheme of this moment in infinity, but the grey leaned more toward white than black. The balance of the shade was precarious, of course, as all things are precarious that are worth looking at. Was it a dream? Was it an illusion? This moment is evanescent, it seems, a flash of beauty in the darkness of the raging storm.

* * *

Harry sat numbly on the balcony some hours later. 

He had checked to see if she still had a pulse. He had helped Krum move her body to the Hall of Illusions. All of this, however, made it no easier to accept the fact that she was dead.

To accept the now unavoidable fact that a murderer reigned somewhere in their midst. Two people did not die coincidentally in a week.

The storm raged on, but Harry couldn't have stomached staying inside for another moment. Grief and fear hung heavily in the air.

The door clicked open behind him, and he whirled, immediately suspicious. It wasDraco, and for some reason this quelled his immediate fear. It shouldn't have. Draco was just as dangerous as the rest of them.

Draco took a seat in the chair next to him, and gazed out at the endless sea of grey. Such monotone made Harry wonder a world even existed below them, filled with sunny skies and laughter.

"Are you afraid, Potter?" Draco asked simply, fixing his gaze on Harry.

Harry stayed silent for a moment, and wondered in Draco was worth talking to.

"There are two kinds of fear, Malfoy," Harry started slowly, and glanced up to see if Draco was listening.

Lightning streaked boldly across the late afternoon sky.

"The first kind of fear is the kind that I suppose _I _am more used to. It is the fleeting, intense sort of feeling that comes over you when your life flashes before your eyes. Whenever I face . . . Voldemort, that type of fear envelopes me. It goes away quickly, though, because either I will die facing him or I won't. In either case, the fear is a fleeting thing."

Harry fell into silence, but Draco could tell that he was not finished. A flash of his sterling green eyes revealed something that Draco had never seen on Harry's face. Later, he would realize what it was.

"The second kind of fear," Harry continued, "is far more lethal and far more common. It is the lingering type of fear. This fear eats away slowly at your insides, until everything you trust and everything you cherish and everything you believe in becomes riddled with uncertainty. You begin to lose _faith, _ultimately. You see . . . the first kind of fear may strike quickly and prove more deadly . . . but the second kind of fear kills you slowly, and before you know it you're a lifeless shell, unsure and uncertain and unable to separate truth from lies. _That _is the kind of fear I'm beginning to feel."

Draco sat in stunned silence, his mouth slightly agape. He was scared, suddenly, and more scared than he had ever been. He recognized the look in Harry's eyes now.

Fear.

Harry Potter, who had faced the most powerful wizard alive. Harry, who had stolen an egg from a dragon in Fourth Year. Harry, who had slain a basilisk and battled a Dementor and befriended a giant and never _once _had he seen that look in Harry's eyes. Draco was suddenly very afraid.

"I could have stopped it," Harry said quietly. "I could have saved her."

At last Draco found his voice.

"How? You're not superhuman, Potter. You can't hold up your hand and command death to stop. You think too much of yourself, actually. Stop acting like a hero . . . you're just a person."

"I . . . well, I know that," Harry said.

"I don't think you do," Draco announced suddenly. "From the moment you came into this world you have been fed utter bullshit about being the hero. You think you're the savior of the human race, don't you? I can tell just by your expression sometimes, Potter. You have someone to coach you in morality, someone to teach Charms and Transfiguration and Potions, but you have no one to remind you that you're only human."

Harry looked shocked. "That is because most people have _forgotten _that I'm human, Malfoy. I'm a legendary hero to most of the world, and to the rest of them I'm some notorious freak of nature. They expect me to save the world or destroy it."

"And those people have half-convinced you that you _are _superhuman, haven't they? You aren't a bigger hero or a better person than anyone else, Potter. You have been given a burden. If anyone else was in your place, they would do just as well, I imagine, because they have to. People will do what is required of them, nothing more or less. Don't forget that."

The seriousness of the moment shattered when Harry cracked a grin. "Since when have you been giving advice in humility, Malfoy? You're a narcissistic, pureblooded prat without a shred a humility in your bones. Don't make me laugh."

"Those who can't do, teach," Draco informed Harry sagely. Both boys laughed.

Harry noted after their conversation that he actually might not have hated it. This was a first, when it came to conversations with Malfoy.

It wasn't true that Harry had no one to remind him that he was human. That had been Draco's job for the past seven years.

* * *

Later that evening, Draco paced back and forth in the solitude of his room. 

_Damn. _

He had only two weeks left to befriend Potter. Though the git was softening, it wasn't nearly fast enough. Draco felt he'd done too little too late. Potter would never trust him in time to meet Lord Voldemort's request.

He needed a Cunning Plan. A really cunning one. Yet nothing came to mind.

It was infuriating, actually.

_Speaking of infuriating, _he mused darkly, _Granger is driving me absolutely up the wall. Trying to get her into the sack? Hah. If I wanted to seduce her, I could do it at the drop of a hat. Stupid girl doesn't have any idea what she's talking about. _

And then it came to him, all in one blinding realization. It was a topnotch, fantastically sinister idea, and he realized that it had been culminating in his mind ever since Bulgaria.

His father's words came crashing back.

"_If you must . . . convince her . . . take a more direct approach, if you know what I mean. Women are only good for one thing anyway."_

Harry trusted Hermione unconditionally. Hermione was his reliable advisor, as well as the brains behind the Golden Trio.

_She practically thinks **for**_ _him, _Draco mused. _That thick idiot wouldn't even be able to pass exams if it weren't for her._

He stopped his pacing, and then resumed it with renewed vigour. For weeks, he had been looking for a Really Cunning Plan. This was it.

_All I have to do is seduce Granger. No . . . even better . . . I'll pretend to fall in love with her! _Draco knew that Hermione did not hate him. She had told him outright that she liked him a great deal more than he had ever believed possible. It wouldn't be hard to pretend he was in love with her. In fact, Draco suspected it would be criminally easy.

When Hermione trusted him completely, he would bravely suggest that they confess their love to Harry, in order to obtain his blessing. Hermione would, of course, agree, and she would tell Harry how Draco was an outstanding person and that he could by all means be trusted.

Harry had always listened to Hermione's advice before this. He revered her opinion above all. If one of his best friends and the smartest witch in the school had fallen in love with Draco Malfoy, Harry would surmise that Draco was Not Such A Bad Guy After All.

He had kissed her before, and liked it. Actually, he had wondered what it would be like to shag her. He felt nothing emotional for Hermione, but she wasn't the ugliest girl ever and it didn't hurt that her body was way better than most of the girls at Hogwarts. She was untouchable to the boys back at school(who feared incurring Harry or Ron's elemental wrath), and Draco smirked demonically. How much fun would it be to brag to the guys about how he had seduced Hermione I'm-a-pure-virginal-prude Granger?

Hermione would fall in love like _she _wanted, Potter would trust him like_ Voldemort _wanted, and he would get to shag her like _he _wanted.

_It's so bloody immoral. And so bloody perfect. _

There was only one slight problem.

He only had three weeks.

Could he make her fall in love with him in three weeks?

_I can damn well try._

The stakes were set, it seemed, and the game was on.

The great deception had begun.

* * *

Hermione felt awful. 

Why did _she _feel responsible for Myra's death? How had Myra died in the first place? Why couldn't she stop thinking about Draco?

His name and his face swirled around and around in her head until everything else turned to mush.

The storm, more than the night, darkened the sky, but the past few days had contained nothing _but _darkness. The intensity of the storm seemed to increase after Myra's death. No one went anywhere alone, and usually the Ambassadors stayed in their respective groups. The food tasted like fear, and no one seemed to want to think about getting out of the castle. It was as if Myra had been their life force, their decision maker, their leader.

Hermione, bored of being in her room alone, decided to go to the Sitting Room. It was late, but perhaps Harry and Ginny were restless also. They were the lightest sleepers of the bunch.

She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and opened the door slowly. Lightning briefly illuminated the empty hall. She shivered and walked quickly down the corridor. She opened the large door to the Sitting Room, and first thought no one was inside. A figure silhouetted by the firelight came to her attention. It was Draco.

He was not aware of her presence, it seemed, and was mesmerized by the single-minded destruction of the flames.

She closed the door, and stood watching Draco in silence. She did not know how long she watched him. He entranced her, as the firelight entranced him. His hair coated with the dust of angels and his eyes like jeweled daggers . . .

"How long were you planning on staring at me, Granger, before you made your presence known?"

He had not turned around to look at her, and she flushed magenta. _I could have sworn he didn't know I was here! How long have I been watching him? Five minutes? More?_

"You really do have a staring problem," he continued softly. "On the boat in Bulgaria, at that pub, and now you're staring at me here. Don't worry, Granger, I'm used to it."

She rolled her eyes and composed herself as he turned around. "Why are you up, Malfoy?" She sat down next to him on the sofa near the fire.

"Nightmares," he stated simply. His eyes looked blank as he said this.

"I couldn't sleep either," she replied, "but not because of nightmares."

They were silent after that, both staring avidly at the kindling flame. It was amazing how something so beautiful could be so destructive.

"Granger . . ." Malfoy started, in a determined sort of voice, "I haven't _really _shagged half of the girls in our school, you know."

Hermione laughed at the abrupt change in subject. "My mistake, then. It's closer to three quarters, isn't it?"

"Granger!" Draco whined. "I'm trying to be serious here."

"Is this another one of your tactics to get me to sleep with you?" Hermione asked lightly, casting a sideways glance in his direction.

He looked pained. "Fleur's much sexier than you, and she tolerates me better too. I should be trying to get her into bed," he said simply.

"But you're not trying to get Fleur into bed," Hermione unveiled. It was a statement, not a question.

"No," he conceded.

"It seems you have quite the conundrum, then," Hermione continued, a small smile playing at her lips. "However will you solve it?"

Draco met her gaze with a certain amount of intensity. "I could kiss you," he offered slowly, "and all my problems would disappear."

They weren't very far apart, so he leaned toward her slowly, so that she knew it was coming. Their lips were not a centimeter apart, he could almost taste her sweetness, when he heard the most inaudible word.

"Don't."

Hermione's eyes were closed, and that was a lucky thing, because if they had been open she would have seen the cruelty, carnal hunger, and disappointment that flashed through his own eyes, the clenching of the hand that had almost reached to hold her down involuntarily, before he pulled away.

_Patience. _

He schooled his features into serenity as she opened her eyes.

"I'm a gentlemen," he assured her candidly, "I won't kiss you if you don't want it. I will have to request a reason, though."

"You don't really like me," she stated calmly.

He almost let his guard drop. How did she know?

"Or, at least, I can't make myself believe that you do. You could be lying to me. This could all be an act on your part. How do I know you're not trying to weaken my defenses to get information out of me? You've been a selfish bastard for the past seven years and I have no reason to believe you've changed."

Draco's eyes filled with surprise, probably because what she had said was true. He took a deep breath, as if trying to still his frustration.

"Alright," he said more softly. "I get it. What do I have to do to make you trust me?"

"You can stop lying," Hermione said flatly. "You could also convince me that you're not using me for sex, information, or something equally as horrendous."

"I'm not using you for sex, information, OR something equally as horrendous."

_I'm using you for sex, information, AND something equally as horrendous. All three, that's the key here. _

He smirked behind his hand. "I swear, Granger. You cut a hard bargain, but I'll take you up on it. I will not lie to you from this day forward. I _will _prove to you that I am not using you. Now since I can no longer lie, I'll start by saying that you are the most appalling and wicked girl I have ever known for making this so hard. I will also have you know that you are a worthless Mudblood and a fantastic dancer and a self-righteous bookworm and a wonderful kisser."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "This will end either with the two of us having a duel or with me kissing you, and at this point I'm not entirely sure which is worse."

"Do I have a vote in this?" Draco asked with a hopeful look.

"No," Hermione replied lightly. "Now I think I've had enough of you for one night."

"And I've had far too much of you," Malfoy replied with actual disdain. She took it as a joke, of course.

With that, they went to their respective rooms, and Hermione could not banish the smile from her face.

* * *

Draco shut the door to his room firmly. 

He could not believe she had fallen for it. Did she really believe that Draco Malfoy, King of Slytherin, cared whether or not he gained her trust? It was ridiculous.

He didn't care about her.

Honestly, he didn't.

_Then why did you kiss her before you even had your Cunning Plan? _he asked himself.

A trivial detail.

He just wanted to sleep with her. That _had _to be it. She was a very pretty girl and she was untouchable. He _really _wanted to shag her.

What worried him was that he had almost lost control. Her lips had been centimeters away from his, and he had imagined in vivid detail what it would be like to kiss them, to snake his hand around her waist . . .

Then she had told him not to.

That had rightly pissed him off.

He was good with control, usually. Excellent, as he had proven again and again in the bedroom. But something about Hermione Granger made him want to forget the mission, forget her feelings, and snog her senseless until she screamed.

He wondered what it would be like to hear her scream his name and lost himself for a moment in that pleasant fantasy.

He snapped out of it presently and smacked himself. _Stop obsessing about her. She's just a girl. I'm going to use her for a means and then get rid of her. Like a pet dog._

This comforted him a little bit, but not as much as it should have.

((**A.N.** So now Draco has an evil plan which will obviously complicate things. Next chapter... Harry calls a meeting, Lupin discovers even more about the mysterious object, and does Draco serve Hermione breakfast in bed...? Please be a good person and review.))


	19. Problems in Paradise

((**A.N. **And Chapter 19 is here on time, unlike the twenty page report due on Monday I should have have started three months ago. But on to more cheerful things. I'm very happy to announce that my story has been nominated in three categories at the "He Had It Coming" Awards site.It's up for **best work-in-progess**, **most haunting**, and **most original.** So if you think my story deserves any of those three awards, then go ahead and **vote **over at that site. I'll provide ya'll with the link and everything when voting begins. Well enjoy the chapter and I'll just go start that . . . report . . .))

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**PART II: THE GREAT DECEPTION **

_He who tells a lie is not sensible of how great a task he undertakes; for he must be forced to invent twenty more to maintain that one. _

_Alexander Pope _

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* * *

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**Chapter 19**; Problems in Paradise

Hermione awoke to the sound of sharp rapping on her door.

She checked her wristwatch and slipped out from under the sheets. It was half past seven. Who could be pounding on her door so early?

She opened the door a small ways, and caught the glint of Draco's silver hair.

"Malfoy?" she said dazedly. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you think? I'm serving you breakfast in bed," he proclaimed.

Her mouth dropped open. Arrogant Malfoy would never do such a thing.

"Listen, Malfoy, don't you think you're taking this 'nice guy' thing a little too far?"

"I was _kidding, _Granger. The day I bring you breakfast in bed is the day Longbottom gets elected Minister of Magic."

"Then why are you here?"

"A meeting has been called between the Ambassadors. We need to be down there now."

He took a hold of her wrist and yanked her out the door.

"Malfoy!" she cried, trying to free herself from his grasp. "I am still in my night dress!"

He looked her up and down. "I don't see a problem with that," he said softly, and pulled her closer. Their bodies were only inches apart, and the thin material of her nightgown didn't stop her from feeling the heat of his body. Why did something so wrong feel so deliciously right?

"Give me five minutes," she said firmly, and slipped away from him.

She shut the door to her room and changed quickly into everyday robes. She scrubbed her face and attempted to tame her hair. When she stepped back outside Draco was leaning against the corridor wall, looking detached and unconcerned as ever.

"We're late," he said plainly. When she stepped toward him, he hooked her arm around his in a rather amiable fashion, and they walked quickly down the hall.

"Who called this meeting, anyway?" she asked, as they neared the ballroom. He dropped her arm, and Hermione gazed around. The grandeur of the castle seemed to take on a darker, more sultry aspect.

"Potter did, of course," Draco answered. Hermione looked at him in shock.

"Harry did? I had no idea."

The ballroom doors stood wide open, and as Hermione entered, she saw that they were indeed the last two to arrive. Everyone else was seated firmly around the circular table. Hermione took the empty seat next to Harry.

Thirteen seats. One chair had been removed.

Silence fell.

"You're all probably wondering why I called this meeting," Harry asserted in a clear and carrying voice. The back of his chair made a scraping sound as he rose. "None of us have talked much since Myra's death."

He looked around at each of them, and they subconsciously became aware of the position he had taken. New leader.

"I called this meeting because I'm fed up. I'm fed up with lies, and I'm fed up with deception. There is no denying it now; two people have died in a week. There is a murderer amongst us and we are all in grave danger. I will go as far as to say that if we do not get to the bottom of this, the murderer will pick us off one by one."

There was those that looked appalled at the harshness of his words. There were those who looked as if they agreed with what he was saying. Ginny was amongst the former, and Krum amongst the latter.

"The murderer, undoubtedly one of us, is very clever," Harry continued somberly. "He has set an example by killing the girl who was trying to figure him out. He has no doubt made the rest of us afraid to admit that we know anything, for fear of becoming the next victim. We must not let this tactic fool us. We should discuss Myra's death openly."

A general murmur of agreement met his ears.

"It seems to me as if she choked, or stopped breathing," Hermione opined reluctantly. "And she complained of having a headache beforehand. She–" but Hermione decided not to mention that Myra had almost revealed something of grave importance to her.

"She seemed woozy," Hermione finished lamely.

"It is my guess that she vas either suffocated or poisoned," Krum announced loudly. "Since ve cannot use magic, there is no way to verify that."

"I was with her until she died. No one suffocated her."

Hermione's voice sounded soft, reluctant as she raised her eyes. She became aware of the disconcerting looks that various people gave her. _Why are they staring at me like that? _she wondered guilelessly.

"Who is to say that _you _didn't strangle her?" Renae piped up, narrowing her eyes.

Hermione actually gasped in shock. "Me? You were all there when she died . . . I didn't do a thing!"

"It is a little suspicious," ventured Ava, with a frown. "You vere the last one to speak vith her . . . you could easily have poisoned her or killed her if she knew too much . . ."

"Ridiculous!" Hermione said shortly, in her no-nonsense voice. She glanced around the table for support. "I . . . I told Harry where I was going, several of you heard it. Why would I inform everyone in the room that I was leaving with Myra if I planned to murder her?"

This silenced the skeptics. "She 'as a point," Jaime admitted reluctantly.

A sudden sob sounded from across the table. Everyone turned to look at Fleur.

"I wish _death _on Myra's murderer. I don't care who killed her, but that person should be condemned to life in Azkaban!" she shrieked dramatically.

Harry started consolingly, "We're all very sad about Myra's death . . ."

"You haven't known her for seven years! You haven't watched her grow up! You can't even been to fathom 'er wit and charm and brilliance! She was my best friend and there will never be anyone like her!"

Fleur dissolved into a bout of hysterical sobbing, and no one seemed to know what to do.

Hermione painstakingly refrained from rolling her eyes. Fleur was always such a drama queen, and drama wasn't what they needed at the moment.

Krum smacked his hand down on the table abruptly, and several people jumped.

"Ve need to find a vay out of the castle _now!_ This storm vas obviously not a coincidence and vill never end!"

"I've said it before," Ernie replied irritably. "Since we can't use magic there is no way to counteract the storm. We can only wait it out!"

"I AM TIRED OF WAITING!" Krum roared at last. He was red in the face with rage.

"Have you ever considered anger management, Krum?" Draco asked calmly. "Counseling is nothing to be ashamed of . . . did you have a dark childhood, by any chance? Don't get _upset, _now, I'm only attempting to analyze certain aspects of your pathetically tiny brain . . ."

"How vould you like to analyze certain aspects of my _fist, _Malfoy? I DO NOT NEED ANGER MANAGEMENT!"

"It's okay," Draco comforted in a soothing voice. "You're just in denial right now. The first step to a healthy recovery is admitting you _have _a problem . . ."

"GAHHH!" Krum screamed. He seemed only moments away from ripping open his shirt and beating his chest in rage. He stood up, took a step toward Draco, turned on his heel abruptly, and hastened out the door.

"Thought so," Malfoy muttered triumphantly.

Harry adjourned the meeting shortly after this outburst. The tension in the room had escalated to such a level that Hermione was surprised one of the chandeliers hadn't shattered.

After resolving to continue the conversation after dinner, the Ambassadors split in their respective directions.

"We're taking a walk," Draco announced to Hermione after they had split off from the others. It was not a request, but a command. Hermione certainly did not trust him, and neither did Harry. She found herself, for whatever reason, still unable to object.

"Krum is guilty," Draco burst at last, with conviction.

To his obvious dismay, she rolled her eyes. "You've been saying this from the start, Malfoy, and I'm still not any closer to believing you."

They began ascending a staircase, and Draco's voice took on a sharper edge. "Can't you just put your prejudices aside for a moment and use some common sense, Granger? Obvious Clue #1: He tried to _kill _us all on the boat. Clue #2: He goes to a school where they preach dark arts . . . his Headmaster is a well known Death Eater, for Merlin's sake! Clue #3: He claimed to be 'flying a broom' the day Franz died. He was _lying! _Clue #4: Every time we begin to make progress in a discussion, he blows up and brings up something completely irrelevant. Clue #5 . . ."

"Okay, I get it," Hermione conceded. "He does seem suspicious, but he's a good guy. I _know _so."

Draco made an exasperated sound. "Have it your way, then, Granger. See if I care when you flounce off with him and get yourself killed."

They had reached a stone hallway, and at the end Hermione glimpsed a patch of grey sky. Where were they?

"I'm going to _flounce off _with him, Malfoy. I'm not going to flounce off with anyone."

Draco frowned. "Now why do I lack faith in this statement? Let's see . . . maybe because you've already flounced off alone with someone. _Me._"

"Doesn't count," Hermione said lightly.

"What? Why not?" He sounded offended that he didn't count. "I'm a Slytherin . . . turn around for one second and I might stab you in the back."

"You wouldn't," said Hermione, but only because she knew it would annoy him. Draco looked miffed.

"If I didn't know better, I would say that you were getting too comfortable with me, Miss Granger. Maybe I ought to throw you off of this balcony to remind you of who I _really_ am."

"What balcony?"

"This one," Draco replied swiftly, turning a corner. A large balcony with an overhang spanned out before them. Chairs sat along the balcony edge, and Draco commenced in taking a seat. Hermione remained standing.

She walked to the edge of the balcony and looked down, searching for some signal of life below. Everything had worked so far for Draco. He had played the role of wry, uncertain Pureblood. The rest was simple.

But he got caught up in watching her. A gust of wind blasted onto the balcony in a sudden, chilly torrent. Her hair flapped out behind her and her cheeks had been shaded pink from the cold, like the rouge on an actress's face before she took the stage. Her profile was strong against the grey backdrop of the storm. He watched with growing dismay as the wind pushed her robes back onto her frame, so that they clung to her figure. A drop of rain hit her face, and he watched its slow and languid procession down her neck, then under her shirt. He wanted to be like that raindrop. He wanted to run his hands down her face and her neck and all the way to her . . .

_Merlin._

"Granger, get the _bloody hell _away from there," Malfoy pleaded. He couldn't take much more of that torture.

She turned around, surprised at his vehemence. "What's wrong, Malfoy?"

"You'll . . . fall," he elaborated, voice hoarse, as he motioned for her to sit down. She took the seat with one last puzzled glance in his direction

* * *

. 

The two of them sat in comfortable silence, and Hermione's mind wandered. She had a strange question for Malfoy– one that he probably would not be able to answer.

Hermione wondered briefly if asking him was a good idea. The saying went that curiosity killed the cat, but Hermione was far too curious to refrain from asking him.

"Malfoy, you told me you weren't a Death Eater, but I know that your father is one. Could you answer a question for me?"

"No."

"Do girls become Death Eaters?" Hermione blurted out. She was intensely curious; she had never seen a woman Death Eater but it was possible that they existed.

Draco looked at her directly and seemed to size her up. Finally, after running his hand along the smooth mahogany of the chair, he answered.

"Not usually. That isn't to say that there haven't been any, but women that do become Death Eaters are not included in the Inner Circle."

"Why not?" she asked curiously. She had no idea that she looked coy and innocent, tilting her head thoughtfully as she asked the question.

"Because Death Eaters do things that . . ." Draco let out a breath, "that girls shouldn't ever have to see."

"That's a bit sexist if you ask me."

Draco tapped his finger on the mahogany in an agitated manner. "It's not sexist."

"What do the big bad Death Eaters do that's so _awful_?"

"I won't tell you," he said firmly. He brought his hand down hard on the mahogany armrest.

"C'mon, Malfoy, I can handle it. Don't you think it's better for me to know than to be blissfully oblivious?"

"No," Draco said, with an air of finality. He stared firmly at the ground, his brow creased into a frown, like the beginning of a crack running through a porcelain vase.

"Fine, then! I don't care." She turned up her nose. "I'm surprised my delicate ears have survived this long in the presence of a sexist, chauvinistic pig–"

"_Damn _you, Granger! Can't you see that I'm doing it for your own bloody protection?" he burst suddenly. He looked angrier than see had ever seen him. "That's what I like about you, that you can still trust blindly without asking questions. I like it that you are completely oblivious to so much of the evil in our world. I like it that despite all of the pain and destruction in our lives, you still have this completely ridiculous idea that love overcomes all! If I told you exactly what it was that those Death Eaters do, it would ruin all of the stupid and naive notions you have. So I won't do it."

Hermione sat in stunned shock.

_But that's what I like about you. _

She had not known he liked anything about her.

_Completely ridiculous ideas . . . stupid and naive notions . . ._

"Malfoy, I am _not _naive or stupid! I know there is evil in this world, and I do not ignore it."

Draco responded with a soft laugh.

"Do not strive to understand everything, Hermione, or someday you may just achieve it."

He shook his head sadly, and stood up.

"Where are you . . .?" she started.

But he had already left.

* * *

FACT: _King Arthur had a son named Mordred. The tale insists that the Final Battle of King Arthur (which took place on Salisbury Plain), occured in 537 A.D. The battle culminated in a duel between Arthur and Mordred, father and son. Mordred killed Arthur, though Arthur dealt Mordred a mortal wound also. Arthur's son is commonly known as Mordred the Traitor. _

Lupin was back in the Library of Magic, except that it was near midnight. The stars shone through the window panes, illuminating the pearly pages of his books along with a single lantern. _Amazing, _Lupin thought, _how many books you can pour through without finding a single thing. _He had read almost every book the library held on ancient British civilizations, and yet nothing had surfaced about the Druids.

He was becoming quite familiar with Arthurian history, however. Apparently Arthur had been killed by his own son, a traitor to the Round Table. Lupin found it kind of ironic, actually. Arthur had been a wonderful king, but apparently not a very good father.

Magical libraries could be quite dangerous places. Lupin had opened books that had screamed at him, bit him, made him fall asleep . . . a particularly nasty one had tried to gauge his eyes out with built-in toasting forks. He shuddered at the memory of that specific incident.

The only thing Lupin had discovered was that the inner circle of megaliths in Stonehenge all seemed to be placed around a certain, mysterious _point. _The point was, of course in the middle of Stonehenge itself, though no one had ever been able to discover the reason that the Druids found this point so significant.

Again, it all came back to the Druids. Who were these mysterious, powerful people, and why had they tried so hard to bury their history, to cover up their tracks? Why had they built a large astrological map around a mysterious point? And finally, what did it all have to do with this forbidden object?

The obvious conclusion was that the object was hidden directly on this crucial _point_, but that was impossible. People had studied that point, examined that point, even dug at that point for hundreds of years, and had come up with nothing.

Lupin sighed wearily. He heard a creak behind him, but took no heed. Old libraries were often creaky and noisy at night. It seemed suddenly hot inside of the library. Lupin decided that opening a window would be a good idea. He reached across the table to open the old fashioned latch on the paned window, and winced as it creaked outward. He heard a thump behind him.

A breeze blew in slightly, ruffling his papers and books. He straightened them absentmindedly and gazed up at the night sky. Stonehenge kept track of solstices, equinoxes, eclipses, constellations . . .

Suddenly something hit him. It was another of his absurd, impossible ideas, but more and more those ideas seemed to be working out. If it was correct, the people who had built Stonehenge were geniuses.

Scientists all claimed that Stonehenge was a map of the stars; what if the _stars _were a map of _Stonehenge?_

The idea itself was ingenious because the stars themselves could never be changed. There was, therefore, always, and indestructible map of Stonehenge, and all that a person had to do to find it was look up.

He wondered if a star aligned directly to the center of Stonehenge, and quickly opened a constellation chart. It was the North Star, he was almost positive. He checked the latitude, and his face fell. It did not line up with the North Star. It did, however, line up with the star Thubin. What significance did that possibly have?

He recalled a lecture from an archeoastronomy course that he had been taking. The _Egyptians_ had built all of the pyramids aligned to Thubin. This was because the Earth's axial tilt had changed ever so slightly over the millennium, and Thubin had once been in the place of the North Star. Hence, when the Druids had built Stonehenge, it _had_ been aligned with the northern most star– Thubin.

But what significance did Thubin have? He started as he noticed a huge coincidence– Thubin was the brightest star in the constellation _Draco. _He had read earlier that a _Draconic Month _was the time it took for the moon to circle around Stonehenge once. In Latin, Draco meant 'dragon' or 'snake.'

He thought back again to the poem.

_The** snake **in her hand, as it slips to the ground . . ._

There were numerous references to _snakes_ everywhere in Stonehenge. It had been built around Draco (a snake!), the poem mentioned snakes, and astronomers even used the term 'Draconic Month' to describe the movement of Stonehenge.

Where was all of this snake symbolism coming from?

There was only one answer, and that had been the one that was alluding him. The Druids.

Lupin saw a flash of movement to his right and immediately realized that someone was in the library with him.

He picked up his things and quietly curtailed out.

He wasn't sure of what snakes had to do with Stonehenge, but he was rapidly getting an idea.

He _was _sure that there was a nameless someone following him. He would have to be more careful.

* * *

Harry paced nervously in the Sitting Room. _Where is Hermione? _he thought irritably. _I really need to talk to her._

He could not believe how ridiculous the situation was. They were stuck in a castle in the sky, and ironically, no one had enough brains to find a way out. Harry did not even want to know what everyone on the ground was doing. They were no doubt out of their minds with worry.

Harry missed Ron's carefree attitude and tension-breaking humor. This journey had given him an idea of what life would be like without his best friend– he didn't like it at all.

On top of all that, _nothing _anyone said made an ounce of sense. He felt as if he were caught up in one of those bad soap operas his aunt Petunia always watched.

There were so many things going on at once that he didn't know which one to address first.

The only conclusion he could come to was that everyone in the castle save Ernie and himself was absolutely crazy.

Ginny, to start, acted unreasonably erratic. Everything she said to him seemed stilted and forced.

Hermione kept running off with some unknown boy that she was obviously head over heels for. He saw it in her eyes.

Malfoy. What was there to say about Malfoy? He was evil as they came.

Krum had made up numerous false stories and alibis, and had taken to being afraid of Draco. That in itself was scary.

Fleur was a complete mess and would no longer be of any use whatsoever.

Renae was nervous, Michael was guilty, Myra was dead, the lights had mysteriously gone out, conspiracies took place in the ballroom on a daily basis, and at least five of the Ambassadors were do suspicious he didn't even know what to do with them.

Harry had to get to the bottom of this.

Did no one else find it the _slightest bit _suspicious that Michael had shattered a wine glass and acted upset on numerous occasions? Did no one think it was even a _tad baffling_ when Draco had shown up to the scene of Franz's murder late? Had no one else observed the fact that every time something of importance was being discussed, Fleur started crying? Had anyone else ever noticed that Draco always arrived late?

The Ambassadors were in a state of complete pandemonium and he knew it. Blackmailing went on every which way, all sorts of people crept around in the dark, secret meetings took place all the time, and no one was willing to admit that they knew anything.

Not to mention that one of the Ambassadors was a ruthless and maniacal murderer with a completely unknown motive.

For all Harry knew, he was next.

Harry decided that he would have to solve the mystery before anyone else got killed. He would be far more discreet about it than Myra, however.

Hilda was in his Independent Study group. He could approach her with the precedent of working on the project, and then wheedle information out of her. Blearily, he recalled that the Bulgarians were staying on the second floor.

He walked out the door.

* * *

Draco strode away from Hermione quickly. 

_Did I just call her Hermione?_

_Yes, you did. _

This affirmation gave him the chills. He definitely hadn't meant to.

He whipped around a corner, anxious to get back to his room– and smacked directly into Harry Potter.

"Potter!" Draco yelled jumpily. Harry narrowed his eyes as he straightened his glasses.

"What's wrong with you, Malfoy? Can't you watch where you're going, you utter prat?"

Draco's eyes flared with anger. "Don't try to blame this on me, you humongous moron . . ." he wanted to say more, but refrained from doing so.

After a quick debate with himself, Harry said, "Listen, Malfoy, I'm conducting an investigation, of sorts, and I need to ask you for some information."

_It's true that Draco could lie to me, _Harry thought, _but a lie reveals more than no information at all. _

Harry could almost see the snide comment on Malfoy's tongue, but watched as the boy fell silent, and looked haughtily expectant.

"I know your number one suspect is Krum," Harry said wearily, "but if you want me to even consider it, I need you to give me some real evidence."

Draco was silent. At last he spoke.

"The night when the lights went out, Potter, something peculiar happened. Macmillan was mad at me because I ditched him, but I had a good reason, believe it or not. In the darkness all around, I saw a glint of light, and I went to see what it was. As I got closer the outline of a door appeared. I opened the door slowly and heard the crackling of flames. Krum knelt by the fire, talking to someone. From my angle I couldn't see who it was, but I heard a snatch of their conversation. 'I am going to kill him,' Krum said with conviction. 'Just like I killed Franz.' Then he must have heard me, because he whirled around. I escaped before he saw who I was, but he knows I know. That's why he didn't retaliate this morning at the breakfast table. Viktor Krum is dangerous, Potter. I've been saying it all along."

Harry's mouth hung open. "What! Why didn't you mention this before?"

Draco paused. "I didn't expect you all to believe me," he said at last. "You all kept accusing me of jumping to conclusions, but Krum has been planning this from the start, I tell you!"

"But the million dollar question is . . . _why_?" Harry asked, gesturing helplessly.

"You never know with Krum . . . he's just unhinged, if you asked me," Draco answered.

"But Franz was one of his best friends . . . that doesn't make any sense."

"No," Draco agreed simply, and carefully shifted his weight.

They would find out sooner than they thought.

((**A.N. **So a few characters are starting to look pretty suspicious, no? Next chapter is the end of Part II, in which you'll see sunlight, paparazzi again, white thestrals, even more Lupin,finally some Harry/Ginny, and someone pulls a knife on someone else. And don't forget to review!))


	20. Fickle Farwells From France

((**A.N. **Chapter 20 is here, finally. I tried to update yesterday but wouldn't let me log in. Well this the last chapter in Part II, and that means I gotta take a break to get Part III all edited and pretty and ready to post. It will probably only be a few weeks to a month, but I'm still sorry...

So here's to all the reviewers(skip down if you don't wanna hear this):

**xxTearDropKisses: **Some of your theories last review were amazingly, kind of scarily insightful... it's like you can predict the future...!

**DawnaMalfoy: **You are right, Lupin's mystery is definitely somehow connected to the Ambassadors...

**Hannah: **You're probably not gonna read this, you crazy Canadian, but oh well... poison, you say? Interesting...

**meeko313: **I see much confusion in Draco's future...

**Cara: **Thank you, sorry for the late update!

**Harmony930: **I'll definitely check out your stories as soon as I can... ;D

**TouchofPixieDust: **Thanks, I'm glad it isn't 'contrived.' I have problems with that in my writing sometimes...

**blueyedchibi: **The Ambassadors are all very suspicious, aren't they? Almost like there's more than one plot going on in the castle or something. ;)

**Ongiri Momoko: **I hope you get better soon...!

**cate:** Hahaha I got sick of the rain as well. Hopefully this chapter cheers you up a bit.

**xxlightningboltxx: **That's a huge compliment, thank you!

**pinkicing101: **Yeah the chapters in this story are way longer than any other chapters I've written... this story is only halfway done and already longer than both my others.

**Bleeding on The Ballroom Floor: **So I've just recently discovered Panic!At the Disco, haha and then I understood your name. ;D The twenty page report is done, but now I have to writea twenty minute presentation...

**WhoOt: **lol!

**Le Noir de Adhara: **You're so close to figuring out the Lupin thing your review is so brilliant and insightful you're killing me over here you're soo close!Yeah you're starting to understand the parallels between my story and thetale of King Arthur... how can you BE so brilliant?

**ebtwisty9: **Hm you think Draco was lying? Well he certainly is good at that, isn't he...?

**maddy midnight: **Yet another person who suspects Fleur, are you? All will be revealed soon...

**sugarFREEgum: **Aw thank you, I'm glad you liked TMHA. Hopefully you'll like this one just as much...!

**TheOnyxDragon: **Thanks for the insightful/helpful criticism, it really helps me out. :D You want more action between Draco and Hermione? Welcome to Part III...

**gral: **Ah, conspiracy? What an interesting choice of a word... ;D Thanks about my characterization of Draco.

**fantasticarla: **Ginny is an interesting suspect... there is certainly a lot of evidence towards something go on, if you read carefully, I think...

**immelt: **Well I'll tell you this much-- the muderder is not Harry or Hermione. Fortunately, Harry doesn't have multiple personalities, so I think that's pretty obvious, and Hermione is definitely not offing anybody in her spare time...

**ali-lou: **To each of your theories: 1. Yes, a prophecy. 2. Yes. 3. You're on the right track.

**TigerLilly1889:** Thank you, we here at Hatusu incorporated value your opinion.

**snakemalfoy:** Ah a Krum-believer. Everyone who believes that Krum is the murderer tends to be very, very full of conviction on that matter. This chapter might make all you Krum-suspecters very happy...

**SkyBlueSunShine: **Fleur did repair the teacup...

**dramionshipper: **Oh that sounds like a good book, I wish I could read French.

**aznquidditchchick: **Yes, Harry will find out about Draco/Hermione. The question is, when?

**HgBookworm: **Polyjuice potion will come into play, you say? Whyever would you think a thing like that? ;D

**Amber Lee1: **Haha if I had everything written and edited, I defintiely wouldn't wait so long between updates. :)

**sammii69: **Thank you, glad you like it.

**Amoramor: **Ah, you said that Bellatrix Lestrange is a Death Eater, and I agree. However, this story is pre-HBP and we found out in HBP that she is one of Voldemort's most trusted... but I didn't know that when I wrote this, so I just assumed from OotP that she WAS a Death Eater(like Draco said), but that she wasn'tvery important. Narcissa isn't nesseccarily a Death Eater, either. Yeah it's confusing isn't it? ;DI know there are a lot of technicalities, but I needed to write it this way to make the story work.

**ramones2me: **AND a bag of chips? No way...

**DMswissmissHG: **Hope you like the chapter. :)

**iHEARTxDRACO: **I'm glad you liked Part II so much, hopefully Part III lives up to it...

**Rachael Lupin: **I do love the paparazzi, so many amusing situations to put our poor Ambassadors in.

**ColorEsperanza: **I hope my explanation about Bellatrix clears up your confusion... if not, message me and I'll explain it more. ;D Harry/Ginny is such an adorable ship...

**xxxCheezItxxx: **Haha another Krum-suspecter. A lot of reviewers think it's Krum, Fleur has her own little following, a lot of people suspect Draco, and then there's the Renae group, and the Ernie-suspecters... some people suspect almost every Ambassador, some people suspect none of them... one person even thinks that Franz and Myra both committed suicide? LoL which group is right? You'll just have to read on!

Thank you, **Ali, **you're the greatest, you make this story work with your insightful comments/ super-de-duper editing skills!

That's it, enjoy the end of Part II!))

**

* * *

**

**PART II: THE GREAT DECEPTION**

_**Truth** lives on in the midst of deception._

_Henry von Schiller _

* * *

**Chapter 20**; Farewell to France 

The sunlight streaming through Hermione's window awoke her. She felt it dapple her face and tickle her nose and wait a minute . . .

_Sunlight?_

She did not want to open her eyes for fear that she would see a stormy sky. The warmth and brightness could not be _real_ . . . it was merely a wonderful dream.

She opened her eyes painfully. The brightness was still there.

She jumped out of her silk bed with more energy than she'd had in days ran to the window.

Blue. The first blue she had seen in a week, and it was wonderful. The early morning sky was filled with wispy white clouds, and the turrets of the castle were illuminated by sunlight, sparkling and shimmering and dappling sunlight. She squealed in happiness and hastened out of her own room.

"Harry!" she cried, skittering haphazardly to his door. She pounded hard. "Sunlight! There's sunlight out there! Wake up!"

"Ginny!" she yelled next, and pounded on Ginny's door. "Ernie, Malfoy, wake up!"

Harry's door opened first, and he looked at her with an enormous grin. She launched herself into his arms and he laughed, swinging her around joyfully.

Ginny came out next, looking sleepy but excited. Hermione grabbed her hands. "We're free, Ginny! The storm's over! We're going to get out of here!"

"What did I tell you?" came Ernie's arrogant voice. "I told you guys from the start that this thing would clear up in no time."

Hermione definitely did not remember him saying anything of the sort, but she laughed with good nature.

The storm had passed, and they would be safe in no time.

She felt a prickle on the back of her neck, and turned around to see Draco standing somberly in the shadows, hands thrust into his pockets.

"Aren't you even a little happy the storm is over?" she asked acidly as she approached him. He shrugged.

"Even though it stopped raining," he said carefully, "I have the strangest feeling that the storm has only just begun."

* * *

"There is still a great amount of magic in the air," Ernie announced, "but in about two hours we should be able to floo down, and apparation should be possible as well." 

The Ambassadors sitting around the table looked extremely relieved.

Harry, always the detective, glanced around discreetly to see if anyone looked unhappy.

They all seemed joyful, but was that the beginning of panic in Michael's eyes? Jaime suddenly jumped up from his seat, as he had apparently seen something through the transparent floor.

"Merlin! Thank Merlin, look!" he cried, pointing at something far below. "Everyone must come to the main balcony!"

Quickly the students filed out of the ballroom, and Hermione found herself being ushered outside and down sweeping white marble steps. They quickly descended and ended up outside the castle on a mysterious, suspended platform.

"Look!" Jaime said, reverence in his voice. "They're here!"

Hermione looked down and at last saw what he was pointing at.

Out of the billowing white clouds charged a group of . . . thestrals?

They _were _thestrals, but they looked completely different from the ones Hermione was used to. The majestic horses were sterling white against the backdrop of billowing clouds, with silver hooves and silky mains. The most breathtaking aspect of the Not-Thestrals was definitely their wings. Beating powerfully in the wind, the insides were laced with gold and sparkled in the sun. A pure light emanated from the horses as they swept dramatically onto the balcony. They pulled a carriage behind them.

"They're . . . absolutely breathtaking," Hermione exclaimed. One of the white horses tossed its silky main.

"By Jove, they are," Ernie agreed, his eyes fixed on the horses.

Harry and Draco exchanged identical suspicious looks, and Hermione frowned.

"You don't like them?" she asked in dismay.

"Like what? The carriage? I suppose it's pretty enough," Draco said slowly, looking at Hermione as if she were a bit unhinged.

"No, you prat, the horses," she said impatiently.

Draco and Harry both stared at her, and concern flashed in Harry's eyes. At last understanding dawned.

"Nice try, Hermione," he said wryly, "but I know there's nothing there. You're trying to make me go crazy like I did seeing those thestrals in fifth year, aren't you?"

"Harry," Ernie cut in, "they're right there!"

He pointed at the horses as if it was obvious.

"I don't see anything," Ginny said quietly. Hermione looked around in confusion. Jaime stared proudly, and Michael gazed in reverence at them also. Hilda looked wide-eyed at their beauty. All of the others, however, seemed to look right past the horses.

"The . . . the huge white horses pulling the carriages! You don't see them?" Hermione asked in disbelief.

"These, my friends," intoned Jaime in an informative voice, "are thestrals, but perhaps not the ones you are used to. They are a rare breed of Light Thestrals, and are also known as Sky Thestrals."

Hermione gasped. "I've read about these . . ." she started excitedly.

"In ancient times," Jaime continued, with an irritated look in her direction, "these creatures were supposed to be only figments of the imagination, because children alone could see them. Like Dark Thestrals, only a certain type of people could see them fully."

"Well, why can't Potter and I see them?" Draco asked with a frown.

"You cannot see Dark Thestrals unless you have seen death," Jaime said. "You must be innocent and pure as a child in order to see a Sky Thestral. They are a product of thestrals breeding with unicorns, actually."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying that only virgins can see these . . . Sky Thestrals?" he asked with a smirk, eyes flashing to Hermione and back.

Jaime shook his head. "You misread my meaning, Draco. Zer are other way to lose your innocence. Virginity 'as little to do with it most of the time."

Fleur looked unreasonably upset. Her eyes darted frantically in front of the carriages.

"I can't see zem anymore," Hermione heard her say softly. There were tears in her eyes.

"Wait!" said Harry suddenly. "I can't see the Sky Thestrals, but they have shadows. I can see shadows of horses, there of the ground."

He pointed at the shadows triumphantly. Draco squinted and looked indifferent.

"Ah," exclaimed Jaime. "A shadow case. Very rare, but with you, I would expect it, Harry Potter."

"What does it mean if I can only see the shadow?"

"It means that you can envision a world of innocence and purity, although you realize that such a world does not truly exist. It means, mostly, that you have hope for a world of goodness. You see only a shadow of an innocent world, and therefore only a shadow of the Sky Thestral."

With a shiver, Hermione remembered her conversation with Draco.

"_I am not naive or stupid! I know there is evil in this world and I do not ignore it."_

She recalled that Draco had laughed scornfully. Perhaps he had been a little bit right.

* * *

When they reached the ground, pandemonium ensued. They were ushered into a posh building by the carriage drivers. Madame Maxime, Dumbledore, and Karkaroff all waited inside, and Hermione realized it felt odd to be on the ground again. 

Dumbledore seemed troubled, but he relaxed slightly when he saw the Ambassadors.

Madame Maxime wrapped Fleur and the others into a hug.

"Where eez Myra?" she asked. Her voice was softly apprehensive.

The Ambassadors exchanged glances, and reluctantly launched into an explanation about Franz and Myra. A few of the girls cried as they retold it, and the boys looked plaintive as well. In the castle, they had been on guard and afraid to show too much emotion. Now they expressed proper sadness.

"I feared something of this sort would happen," Dumbledore told his students in private. "We knew that reinstating the Ambassador program would be risky, but we never expected something of this magnitude to occur."

"So this is it then, right?" Harry asked. "We'll go back to out respective schools and never reinstate the program again?"

"That is what the head of the school boards are here to discuss. In fact, I am leaving for that particular meeting right now. Keep a sharp eye . . . I will be back soon."

A few minutes later, the students again clustered into a group.

"Be careful," Madame Maxime announced to everyone. "Zere eez press outside and you are by no means to disclose any information to ze journalists."

With that, the preoccupied Headmasters (and Headmistress) apparated away. That left the thirteen remaining Ambassadors standing in a small circle. It was odd; even though one within their ranks was a murderer, a certain camaraderie had developed between the Ambassadors. In the sky, they had been divided. On the ground, it seemed, they were united. They had all been on a journey together; they had laughed and cried and sang karoke and almost gotten killed on numerous occasions. It was inevitable that they had gotten closer in the process.

"So what now?" Harry asked, and looked at each of them. It was Krum who spoke up.

"No ve go face za press."

"And after zat why don't we go to lunch at my favorite restaurant?" Jaime suggested with a smile.

They agreed upon this. Before Harry opened the door, he said, "Everyone just stay calm. Don't lose your temper, no matter what they say. Understood?"

Everyone agreed hastily.

He opened the door and stepped outside into the dappling sunlight.

"There they are!" came an excited voice. Many onlookers waited outside, and stood up to get a closer look. A mob of journalists and cameramen pushed in front of the group, and Hermione feared she would be blinded by all the flashes of light.

"Harry Potter! Would you care to comment on the absence of two Ambassadors from your party? Where are they?"

"They are . . . indisposed," Harry said dryly, trying to push his way through.

"Miss Delacour . . . there was a night during the storm when the entire city witnessed the lights of the castle going out. Why did this occur?"

"At zis point, we are not entirely sure," Fleur answered neutrally. They had partly shoved their way through the mob. Hermione began to feel suffocated.

"Draco Malfoy! Is it true that you and Viktor Krum are adamant rivals? Is it true that you got into a bar fight with him on your trip to Bulgaria?"

"Oh . . ." said Draco with a suave smile, "Krum and I get along _famously_."

"More like 'infamously,'" Harry muttered to Draco, to low for anyone else to hear.

"Ginevra Weasley! Are rumors of a serious relationship with Harry Potter to be confirmed?"

"No comment," Ginny said firmly, and the mob of journalists almost burst with excitement.

Finally, they got out of the thick of the crowd, and walked quickly away. Within five minutes, they reached the restaurant.

When they returned to the building after lunch, and found Dumbledore and the others talking in low voices.

"Ah, here they are," said Karkaroff. "Everyone take a seat, please."

"We have decided," announced Dumbledore, "that although there have been complications to the trip, we cannot end it on such a horrible note. Admittedly, we also need to detain all of you in one place for questioning. Therefore, all thirteen of you will journey to Hogwarts while the case here is being investigated. Each of you will be interrogated closely, because we _will_ get to the bottom of this. Since it is only noon, you will leave by train today and stay the night at an inn on the way. I will accompany you," Dumbledore finished finally.

Most of the Ambassadors looked shocked. Fleur seemed pleased, however, and everyone was cheered at missing another week of school.

"Ze funerals for Franz and Myra will not be 'eld until things are straightened out," Madame Maxime told them. "Your luggage eez already on ze train. Dumbledore will accompany you to ze station. Goodbye, my students. I will be busy moving the rest of Beauxbatons back into ze castle. Farewell!"

"I have to do something before we leave," Draco said quickly. He looked nervous. "I'll be back in five minutes."

They boarded the train with some relief. Draco jumped on at the last minute, looking no different but slightly out of breath.

"Where did you go?" Ginny asked with a frown.

"Nowhere important," Malfoy retorted shortly. "It's none of your business, Weasley."

As the train chugged away from the station, Hermione felt relieved to get away from the picturesque city. Something about it sent a shiver down her spine.

After a while, Hermione left the compartment to find the bathroom, and on the way back she encountered Ernie and Draco, talking softly in the hall.

"Of course I understand, Macmillan, it's just . . ." Draco trailed off as Hermione approached.

"It seems like all I ever do these days is walk in on people having suspicious conversations," she said loudly. "I demand an explanation."

It was Ernie who spoke.

"We were actually just talking about that. You see, Hermione, Malfoy views this entire journey with the Ambassadors as an extremely intricate chess game. Each team is playing for power and favor, each individual has a different motive. One of Malfoy's better analogies, if I do say so myself. We can't get cocky just because we're going to Hogwarts. Remember, there's still a murderer amongst us. We can't make a wrong move just because we feel safe at home."

_What is Dumbledore thinking, _she mused, _bringing a murderer to a school full of children? Who knows what he could do next?_

"I'll tell you right now who the most dangerous player in this chess game is," Hermione spoke up suddenly, eyes glinting. "This person is an analytical thinker. This person has sized up everyone in the group and assessed their importance. While big leaders like Myra and Harry have led us around valiantly, this person has sat back and pulled strings like a puppeteer, secretly controlling the actions of many others. This person is calculating, conniving, manipulative, and way smarter than I have so far given him credit for. The most dangerous player in this game is you," Hermione finished, pointing to Draco. He eyes widened. After the surprise had passed, he narrowed them.

"No . . . you're way smarter than I've ever given _you _credit for, Granger. I'm the kind of person who is so seamlessly manipulative that no one realizes I'm being manipulative until it's far too late."

"Are you confessing something?" Ernie asked incredulously.

"I'm simply stating that it should give you all the more reason to _believe _me when I tell you Krum is guilty. I'm not saying there aren't a lot of very strange people amongst the Ambassadors besides him, but he is the murderer. It's going a little far to say I've been _pulling strings_ . . ."

"You have, though," Ernie said with dawning realization. "You were the one who told us we were trapped inside the castle, and you were practically giving orders when we found Franz . . . and the morning of Myra's death, _you _were the one who started the arg–"

"That's enough," Draco said quite abruptly, expression darkening. "I just wish we could get Krum to admit that he is guilty."

"That would be difficult," Hermione mused, "since he isn't guilty."

"It would be hard, but I'm sure we could – what? Yes he is, Granger!"

"I don't believe it," Hermione said simply. "I never will."

She walked away.

* * *

Meanwhile, Harry and Ginny were left alone in the compartment. 

"I'm happy to be going home," Harry said, straightening his glasses. "Aren't you?"

"Oh, yes," said Ginny with an almost-smile. "Delighted."

Anyone but Harry would have taken it for a genuine smile.

"You're afraid," Harry stated bluntly. "What of, Ginny? Are you worried about what everyone will think of our karaoke performance?"

"Yes, mostly," Ginny said with a forced laugh.

"I'm sure they'll have forgotten about it by now . . . we're not _that_ famous . . ."

He trailed off as Ginny gave him The Look.

He laughed. "Alright, maybe we are. Never let it be said that being famous doesn't have its drawbacks. Don't worry. I'll be there to defend you if anything goes wrong."

An odd expression came over Ginny's face at that point, a half hopeful and half anguished contortion of her features. Then her face closed.

"That's sweet, Harry. But I don't need your protection."

There was silence for a moment until Harry smiled.

"You're right. I'm talking to a pretty strong girl, aren't I?"

"Pretty strong," Ginny agreed with hesitation. "Not as strong as she needs to be."

"Needs to be for what?"

"It doesn't matter," said Ginny after a second. She pretended not to see Harry's frown.

"You don't trust me," he said after a moment. "You don't trust me now, and you didn't trust me when I tried to kiss you, and you were even suspicious of me the whole time in the castle. Look, Gin, I may not have been close to you in the past, but can't you see that I . . ."

"You're taking this all the wrong way, Harry," she said in a dismayed tone. "It isn't that I don't trust you. It's that I don't want to deceive you."

"You have a boyfriend already?"

There was a pause.

"Yes," she said firmly, meeting his gaze without hesitation.

Harry let out a slow and surprised breath. "Blimey, Gin. Why didn't you tell me? I'm really sorry . . . if I had known, there's no way I would have . . . who is it?"

"I can't tell you," Ginny said quickly. Her face was emotionless. It all fell into place for Harry. This was why she had been acting so odd.

"Why not?" he asked curiously. He felt a distinct hollowness inside of him that hadn't been there five minutes ago.

"Because–" but Ginny got cut off by Hermione, Draco, and Ernie entering the compartment. They sat down, and the conversation obviously couldn't be continued.

Hermione sat across from Ginny.

"Hey, Ginny," Hermione started curiously, "you've got a mark on your cheek . . . looks like a bad bruise. Where'd you get it?"

It had been on the opposite side of where Harry was sitting, and he had not seen it.

Ginny brought her hand up to her face in surprise, brushing the bruise gingerly.

"It's nothing. Someone just bashed me while we were wading through that crowd of paparazzi. I didn't even notice."

"I've been working on my healing," Hermione said with sudden excitement. "Do you mind if I try it out on you?"

"Not at all," said Ginny with a smile.

No one noticed Mafloy's eyes narrow in suspicion at the mark on her face.

* * *

FACT: _Mordred (Arthur's son), had conceived a daughter before he was killed on Salisbury Plain in the Last Battle by his own father. Mordred had an elaborate burial near where he had fallen. _

"This concerns me greatly, Remus," Dumbledore intoned gravely. "It seems that Voldemort has been anticipating our every move. "

Lupin nodded. "I do not know who is following me, but I sensed a presence in the Library."

Dumbledore sat back in his chair, and steepled his fingers. "I am certain that Voldemort has already discovered the origins of the object, and also where it is hidden. The question remains: why hasn't he acted?"

Lupin shook his head. "Perhaps he knows that the object is at Stonehenge, but, like us, has no idea how to obtain it."

Lupin was frustrated at himself for not being able to decipher the riddle, and frustrated at whoever it was who _had _solved the riddle for being so maddeningly brilliant.

"Albus . . . I have a lead, if only small one," Lupin started apprehensively.

"Any lead is better than no lead."

"I may be stretching logic a bit, but it seems that there are many references to _snakes_ around the subject of Stonehenge. Too many, in fact, to be mere coincidence. The poem mentions snakes, and it seems that the Druids built Stonehenge around Draco. Metaphorically, in other words, around a snake."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I believe I understand where you are heading with this. Please continue."

"Gladly. Onto the Druids. They were a cult of mysterious, powerful wizards whose history has never been revealed. They apparently found snakes very sacred, since they built Stonehenge around one. Albus, I can't help thinking that this all has something to do with . . . well, Salazar Slytherin."

There was silence in his office, and a breeze blew gently in from an open window. Dumbledore finally spoke.

"With those facts alone, your logic may be stretched, but there are facts I have never taken into consideration, nor have you. These facts come from a book that is very ancient, and very well known."

"Albus, I have looked in every book, every tome, every popular source of information, and I'll assure you that there is no–"

"Though you have overlooked this book, as many do, and it is a grave mistake. In fact, I am pretty sure you have read it before. It is _Hogwarts, A History."_

Lupin's eyes widened. He had overlooked that book completely, and he didn't know what to say. What information could it possibly possess?

Dumbledore stood up and strode over to a bookcase. He took down a book and began flipping through it, muttering to himself every so often.

"Ah!" he said finally. "Read this passage."

Lupin took the book quickly, and gazed down at the printed words.

_After Slytherin's rocky years at Hogwarts, little is known about where he retired to. Some claim to have seen him near Ireland, and others say they saw him near the school. Some say he had changed his name, but no one seems to know what he did for the remaining years of his life. The only thing that is known is that his followers participated in a very elaborate burial ceremony when he passed away. The resting place of Slytherin is also unknown, though it is a modern topic of debate. There are many places of speculation, but none that have been confirmed. Salazar Slytherin left virtually no records behind about himself or the people he congregated with. There are some, even , that claim he is still alive today. It seems as if the whereabouts of Salazar Slytherin, alive or dead, will remain shrouded in mystery._

Lupin looked up from the book and met Dumbledore's calm eyes.

"Albus . . ." Lupin started, as the full impact of it hit him, "Salazar Slytherin is buried at Stonehenge, isn't he?"

"It would seem so, my friend. It would seem so."

There was nothing that made more sense. It was possible that the Druids had been followers of Slytherin, the first and original Death Eaters. The had erected Stonehenge as a burial site for their leader. When Lupin said Stonehenge was built around a snake, he realized that he had been speaking literally. Slytherin had been buried under that one significant _point, _and his name literally meant 'snake' in old Sanskrit. It was, in fact, where the English word 'slithering' had been derived. Everything, the star, the rocks, the name, aligned perfectly, leading to this one astounding revelation. Even the poem itself pointed to this fact.

_The veil of stars has drawn to a close . . ._

An illusion to stars.

_The pillar of stone and the crescent it sows . . ._

The literal shape of Stonehenge.

_. . . slips to the earth, and slowly we die . . ._

A direct reference to the earth, where Slytherin was buried.

"Do you remember what the centaur said, Remus?" Dumbledore asked, bringing him out of his stunned reverie.

Lupin shook his head, not quite sure he could remember his own name at the moment.

"He said these words _exactly: _'Buried under myth, legend, and lore strong as stone lie the object that . . .' Myth, legend, and lore strong as stone'? I cannot think of a more direct reference to Stonehenge than _that._ You know what this means, don't you, Remus?"

"It means that the sacred object is buried under Stonehenge, along with the body of Salazar Slytherin," Lupin answered, scarcely believing his own words. "We've found it."

* * *

It was early evening when Hermione felt the train begin to slow. When she stepped off, she was hit by a sudden blast of humidity. The air was warm and sticky, and the sound of bugs droned relentlessly in her ears. 

They appeared to have disembarked into some kind of marshland. Everything around them was a rather murky shade of green or brown. Tall, thin trees shot up from the water, resulting in a forest-like bayou that was thick and shaded.

"What a 'orrendous sort of place," Fleur commented to Jaime, who grimaced and nodded in agreement.

Their hotel stood (quite literally) in the middle of a swamp. It was suspended magically over a murky bog that could have been dark green quicksand. Raised pathways led to the entrance. In the evening light, the dull brass door handles gleamed dejectedly.

Dumbledore led them inside. They were each assigned separate rooms, and instructed not to unpack, as they would be leaving in the morning.

The entire inn seemed wooden, and some parts were creaky. Hermione eyed the shaking wardrobe in her room suspiciously, and wondered if there was a boggart inside or something worse. She shivered and left the room.

Hermione met up with Ernie in the hall.

"Where's dinner supposed to be at?" Hermione asked Ernie.

"I heard it was downstairs, on the swamp deck," he answered, and they commenced in walking downstairs.

"Hermione," Ernie asked, "do you find Malfoy a little suspicious?"

"Suspicious?"

"Yes. I mean, he's so quick to put the blame on Krum. Like you said, he's been running the show. Don't you think he could be guilty?"

Hermione thought back on the many inconsistencies in Draco's stories. She felt sick.

"It's definitely possible," she replied darkly.

Dinner was better than she expected but worse than she would have liked. The meal featured murky brown stew and scarcely recognizable varieties of meat.

"Herm-o-ninny," came a voice from behind her. She wiped her mouth with a napkin and turned to face Krum.

"Hello, Viktor."

His eyes darted back and forth quickly, and Hermione realized that no one else seemed to be paying attention to them.

"I need to talk to you," Krum said seriously. "Alone."

Hermione hesitated for only a moment. She trusted Krum, despite what Draco had said. There was something in her that _knew _he would do her no harm.

She couldn't say as much for Draco.

"Sure," she said, with a small smile. She got up and the two of them left the room discreetly.

Perhaps Krum would have information on the murders. They walked up the rickety stairs and past an open window. The collective hum of bugs penetrated the still air.

"I have been meaning to tell you something for a vhile," Krum said, tapping his fingers uncharacteristically along the railing. They had reached Krum's room, and he ushered her inside, obviously in need of privacy.

"Go on, then," she said softly. Krum glanced around nervously.

A small wooden desk stood at the far side of the room, and a large window gave them a view of the swamp below. Hermione crossed the room and approached the window, gazing down at the bayou below. It commanded an odd sort of beauty. Fireflies flitted along the murky surface, glowing dots on a backdrop of warm green and brown marshland.

"The stars are bright tonight, are they not?" came Krum's voice from close behind her. She jumped slightly at his proximity.

Krum walked slowly over to the desk, half shadowed in dusty darkness.

"You see, Herm-o-ninny . . ." Krum started, as he played idly with one of the drawers, "I need your help."

Again he glanced around, and with a creak the door swung shut. She heard the distinct click of a lock. All of her senses flew into overdrive, and she took in the anxious tick of the clock on the wall, and the enhanced sound of her own breathing.

"My . . . my help? With what?"

He had pulled an object out of the drawer, but in the darkness Hermione could not see what it was.

"I have done things in za past that I am not proud of . . ." Krum continued, fiddling with the object, "and I need you to help me fix them."

Her heart leapt to her throat as she saw the steel in his hand glint in the starlight. He held a knife.

"Krum, I . . . I think we better go back downstairs."

_Downstairs, where I left my wand, _she thought with sudden despair. _Idiot. _

He took a step toward her, the knife as obvious as its intent. Her heart slammed wildly against her ribcage.

"We're not going anywhere," Krum said darkly.

The lock on the door clicked, and a silhouette became apparent. The room flooded with light as Draco looked at the two of them rather calmly. He glanced at the knife in Krum's hand before smirking. The knife flew out of his grasp and landed on the floor at Draco's feet.

Hermione let out a relieved breath. Draco spoke.

"Don't even try to defend yourself, Krum. Get out of here."

Krum looked surprised and sincerely appalled. "No-this isn't-"

"Leave," said Draco, casual for all his conviction.

Krum appealed desperately to Hermione.

"Herm-o-ninny, you know I vould never–"

She averted her eyes and shook her head. "Get out of here, Krum."

Ashen-faced, Krum started out of the room.

Next Draco turned toward Hermione and took a step toward her. His eyes glinted with soft malice as he said, "Do you believe me yet, or will Krum have to plunge that knife through your back before you face the facts?"

Hermione could not believe that Krum was guilty. But after what she had seen, finding an excuse for him now seemed impossible. He had pulled a knife on her. If this did not condemn him as a murderer, she didn't know what did.

"I believe you," she said resentfully.

"You're so _stupid,_" Draco snapped scathingly. "How many times have I warned you not to go anywhere alone with him? Do you really have that little trust in me?"

"I don't trust you at all," Hermione replied shortly, and crossed her arms.

Draco smiled. "Good."

"What?"

"You're starting to learn. You don't just blindly throw your trust in people, Granger. You may be a Gryffindor and you may be gullible, but I won't let you fall into the same trap that Harry does."

"I'm not stupid, Malfoy."

"No," he replied quietly, "just naive."

"I could argue," Hermione said haughtily, "that being naive is better than knowing everything and being as jaded as you are."

"You would not have an argument," Draco said after a moment, "because I agree wholeheartedly. Do you think I _want _to see some of the shit I have seen? Do you think I'm proud of it? I didn't have a choice and now I'm so jaded that I see corruption where you see purity. And now the only thing I can do is stop this from happening to people like you."

"Love," Hermione stated firmly. "True love is pure, true love is unblemished."

"Love is nothing _but _corruption," Draco countered sadly. "It's the father of corruption, Granger. I have never seen men do terrible things with as much conviction as they have when doing it out of love. Love has started wars, ruined friendships, shattered empires. If love did not exist, evil would not exist."

"Nor would good," said Hermione in defense. "I refuse to believe you, Malfoy. Love is not corrupt."

"I'm glad," Draco responded. "I hope you never do believe me. And, Granger . . . I wished you liked me more."

"I didn't say I disliked you," Hermione offered, "I said I didn't trust you."

"Ah," said Draco softly. "You've discovered that there is a difference."

"That's the thing about you. I wouldn't trust you as far as I could throw you. But there's something about you that's like sweet poison. I can't make myself stop drinking. I think you're hazardous to my health."

"All good things are hazardous to your health," he pointed out.

He stared at her, starlight dancing through his hair and in his eyes. The corners of his sensuous mouth curved.

"What?" she asked suspiciously.

"Ironic, isn't it," Draco started, his tone direct and earnest, "that I had to travel all this way to find something that's been standing in front of me all along."

"And what's that?" Hermione asked carefully.

"Nothing important," Draco replied, his tone losing any sincerity she had once imagined it to possess.

"Well," said Hermione, tone almost as dark as the night around them, "we'd better go downstairs. People will get suspicious . . ."

"People already _are_ suspicious."

As they returned downstairs, Hermione, for all her perception, did not see the wheels in Draco's head turning faster than ever.

A whole new game had begun.

**END OF PART II: THE GREAT DECEPTION**

((**A.N. **So it'll be a few weeks at least until the start of Part III, but here is what's in store. The Ambassadors travel to their final destination, Hogwarts, and they come home to find that a war is brewing between the houses. Draco continues to get closer to Harry, but will it all go down the drain when Harry finds out about Draco/Hermione's relationship? Meanwhile, Hermione tries and fails to resist Draco's charm as things heat upbetween them. Lupin comes to a startling realization that changes everything, the Ambassador's murder is solved(but is it too late?), Draco's true intentions are revealed, and there are several twists so huge that you wouldn't see them coming if they were right in front of your face (which they are). So until then, adios...))


	21. Hello to Hogwarts

((**A.N. **Yes, this really is an update. Contrary to popular belief, I am not dead. :) I should be updating regularly from now on, since Part III is finally finished. If you need a recap: the Ambassadors just left Beuxbatons and set out for Hogwarts. Well, enjoy this update and look forward to one next week.))

**

* * *

**

**PART III: SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN**

_The decision to kiss for the first time is the most crucial in any love story. It changes the relationship of two people much more strongly  
than even the** final surrender**; because this kiss already has within it **that surrender**. _

_- Emil Ludwig_

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 21**; Hello to Hogwarts

The arrival at Hogwarts was not nearly as joyous as Hermione had expected. As they stepped off the train, she was reminded painfully of the harsh segregation of their school. The Slytherins and Gryffindors stood on opposite sides of the station, casting furtive glances at one another. She watched as the Slytherins greeted Draco. Pansy threw her arms around him and planted a kiss on his cheek. He smiled a small smile at her antics and set her down firmly. The other Slytherins seemed just as happy to see him. He was, after all, their unspoken leader.

The welcome from the Gryffindors was no less exuberant. Ron stood at the front of them, and when he saw them he hugged Hermione and then shook hands with Harry and clapped his shoulder in that complicated way boys had. He hugged Ginny as well. Hermione frowned. He had given her a tentative hug, almost a beseeching hug. Ron was never cautious, especially where Harry and Hermione were concerned.

Hermione felt her stomach clench with a sense of wrongness. Something was off about Ron. She would have to ask him if he was feeling alright later. She glanced across the crowded train station and saw Draco surrounded by friends. _Is this how it will always be? _she thought. _A hundred people standing between us? _Draco never even looked back.

_I don't need him, he was never anything to me, _Hermione began convincing herself immediately. _He is my enemy, nothing more._

"What are you looking at, Hermione?" Parvati asked her suddenly.

Hermione snapped out of it and turned her gaze on Parvati. "Nothing," she said truthfully.

"I hope that git Malfoy didn't give you three too much trouble," Dean commented as Ron, Ginny, Harry, Parvati, Hermione, Seamus, Neville, and Lavender walked up to the castle.

"Not the kind of trouble you think," Hermione muttered under her breath.

"What?" asked Lavender, always on the lookout for gossip.

"Not too much trouble. The usual," Hermione replied loudly.

She did not fail to notice Harry's relative silence on this subject.

"Harry," said Dean, serious for once, "something's happened."

"What?" asked Harry, his face full of concern. "What's happened?"

"Blaise Zabini has gone missing. The Slytherins are blaming it on Gryffindor and the Order," Neville said. "Tensions have really heated up between us and Slytherin. And . . ."

"And what?"

"There have been some rumors of war . . . take over . . . whispers of the final battle. You lot have been out of the country, but Muggles and Muggle-borns in Britain are sometimes being killed on sight by Death Eaters. No place seems safe anymore but Hogwarts."

Hermione watched Ron pull his coat closer around himself and hunch his shoulders way from the wind. He kept his eyes on the ground.

"Even Hogwarts isn't completely safe," Lavender added in. "Gryffindors and Slytherins get into brawls in the halls regularly, and the teachers don't know how to prevent it."

"You guys chose the wrong time to leave," Seamus told them. "We needed you."

* * *

"We've needed you, Draco. It's been awful. Some sixth year Gryffindors attacked a third year . . . he's still in the hospital wing," Pansy said softly. "Everyone's scared to death." 

Draco shook his head. "Unbelievable."

"We're sure that the Order had something to do with Blaise's disappearance," Pansy continued angrily. "The Gryffindors deny it, but they've become more vicious than ever. I want you to call a truce. We can't have any more of this."

Avery touched Pansy's arm. "Leave us for a minute, will you, Pansy?" he asked, and gave her a meaningful look. He dropped his voice. "Death Eater business."

She looked at Draco beseechingly, but he shook his head.

"I'll talk to you about it later," he said softly, and she walked away icily. She hated being left out of their conversations. Draco constantly had to remind himself that it was for her own good.

"Let's take a walk," offered Nott. Draco, Avery, and Nott started on a slow course around the lake.

"We wanted to fill you in on what's happening," Nott started. "Frankly, we suspect that our Lord is engineering the final takeover."

"Are you serious?" asked Draco. He had heard nothing about this.

"Our fathers have become increasingly confident and excited. Something is happening. We figured you would know more about it than us. You're the highest ranking Death Eater at this school."

"Keep your voice down," Draco admonished. Then, "My father was acting odd also."

The sudden talk of politics seemed surreal to Draco. He was so used to dealing with Krum and Fleur and Hermione, so used to talk about the murder and the Ambassadors.

"Then it's true," said Avery softly, awe and triumph in his voice. "This is it. The last battle. Lord Voldemort promised that all Muggles would be killed. If this really is the last battle, we're going to rule the world."

"And the Muggle-borns?" Draco asked.

"What?"

"The Muggle-borns. What is our Lord going to do with them?" He couldn't imagine why his heart was pounding so hard.

"Slaves, every one of them," Avery said proudly. "Groveling at our feet, ashamed and broken where they've always belonged. The half-bloods will become lower class citizens, and only Purebloods will rule. The age of Muggles is ending, Draco. The age of Wizards will begin."

* * *

FACT: _The Druids religiously worshiped a 'snake god', which was called 'Draconita.'_

Salazar Slytherin was buried under Stonehenge.

Lupin could not believe it.

One of the most famous places in the world held one of the most notorious Dark Wizards of all time. It was brilliant because everyone had overlooked Stonehenge as too obvious of a place for Slytherin's burial.

It generated more questions than it answered, however. Why had no one discovered his grave, and how did the powerful object relate to Salazar Slytherin?

As Lupin had researched the Druids, he had also come across many odd coincidences that had to do with the tale of King Arthur. He had long assumed the story to be only a legend. The first and largest coincidence was that the final battle of King Arthur had taken place on Salisbury Plain. Salisbury Plain also happened to be the place that Stonehenge rested. Was there a correlation?

There was a great deal of information about Arthur's son, Mordred, who had in the end killed his own father in the Last Battle. Mordred had also been dealt a deathly wound, and had apparently been buried very near where he had been killed. He was often called Mordred the Traitor.

Was it possible that there were _two_ famous figures buried at Stonehenge, Mordred and Slytherin?

He decided to research Modred a bit more, because the Centaur had mentioned 'The Once and Future King' in the Prophecy. He took a seat in the Hogwarts Library, hoping that he did not look overly conspicuous. He opened a book titled _Way More than You Ever Need To Know About the Legend of King Arthur. _Why were books named so _poorly_?

_Mordred the Traitor._

_Born circa 490 AD. Died 537 AD. Was killed by his father on Salisbury Plain, and had an elaborate burial ceremony close to the site that he was killed. _

_Little is known about Mordred's earlier life, only that he was shunted from his father's Kingdom at the age of seventeen. The sword that Mordred stabbed King Arthur with is rumored to be one of the most notorious objects in the known world. Thousands have searched for this long lost relic, which is presumed to be buried along with Mordred himself._

"Professor _Lupin_?" came a bemused voice, shocking Lupin out of his book.

He looked up to see Ron Weasely staring at him disbelievingly. An easy grin came over Ron's face as he recognized the Professor.

"Good day, Ronald," Lupin said politely.

"What brings you here, Professor?" Ron said , obviously pleased to see his old acquaintance. "I haven't seen you in a long time!"

"I was talking to your Headmaster, actually," Lupin said diplomatically.

"Were you?" questioned Ron. "What about?"

"Well, it is a bit of a secret . . ." Lupin started, but did not wish to make the boy feel excluded. "I'm sure you'll find out soon."

Ron nodded wisely. "What are you researching there, Professor? King Arthur?"

Lupin cursed himself for leaving books out where people could see them. "Yes," he said with a smile. Ron sat down opposite of him and picked up a book.

"Oddest thing, Professor, we're studying the legend of King Arthur in school right now! The story is actually true, but no one can seem to figure out whether Arthur was a Muggle or Wizard. What do you think?"

Lupin paused. "I was actually reading the strangest account of the life of Mordred, and I can't help book notice the oddest coincidences between–"

But he cut himself off as he realized that he was not supposed to share his ideas too freely. Laughter sounded from outside of the library, and it was obvious that classes had resumed again.

"Between what?" Ron asked, obviously curious.

Lupin smiled. "Perhaps I will tell you one day when it means that I will not be keeping you from your real classes. Off with you, now, or you'll be late."

Ron's eyes flashed dangerously. He didn't look miffed, he looked downright angry. "Promise to tell me later, Professor."

He walked off without another word.

Lupin immediately opened a reference book that held Salazar Slytherin's information in it.

_Salazar Slytherin, circa_ 496-537 AD.

He glanced incredulously at the other book.

_Mordred the Traitor._

_Born 495 AD, died 537 AD. _

Words came back to him swiftly.

_Little is known about Mordred's early years . . ._

_Very little has been discovered about the later years of Slytherin . . ._

_Some say Slytherin may have changed his name, others say . . ._

_Thousands have searched for this long lost relic, which is presumed to be buried with Mordred himself._

_Slytherin is buried at Stonehenge._

_Modred died and was buried on Salisbury Plain._

_Stonehenge lies on Salisbury Plain. _

A gunshot exploded in Lupin's ears. He came to the startling realization that there was one fact that even Dumbledore had overlooked.

_Mordred **is **Slytherin! It isn't that two people were buried at Stonehenge, just one. They're the same person. And this means that . . . Slytherin is king Arthur's son. Salazar Slytherin killed King Arthur. King Arthur killed him._

And finally, the pieces came together. The long lost relic was Mordred's sword, the very one that he had slain King Arthur with. It was the most powerful and evil magical ever object created, and also the sword of legends. Voldemort was looking for it.

Lupin stood up dazedly and went to talk to Dumbledore for what seemed like the thousandth time.

* * *

Harry felt glad to be home, despite the relative state of war he had been thrust into. Hogwarts was just as grandiose as the other two schools, in its own fashion. It had a warm grandeur and an ancient aspect that characterized it with charm beyond dark Durmstrang and imposing Beauxbatons. The charm of Hogwarts lie in its spontaneity, in its oddity. He liked his own school infinitely better. 

Hermione, sitting next to him, cast a discreetly worried glance toward the Slytherin table.

It was dinnertime, and Harry smiled politely at something Renae told him. The Beauxbatons group had chosen to dine with the Gryffindors, while Durmstrang felt at home near the Slytherins. He kept a careful eye on all of the Ambassadors; after all, it was helpful to know where his enemies were. One of them was a murderer.

Harry stood up suddenly. "I thought about what you said, Seamus. I'm going to make a truce with Slytherin. Or I'm going to try."

"Do you want someone to come with you?" Dean asked immediately.

"No. I can handle it," Harry said.

A smile came over Seamus's face. "That's the Harry we've needed all this time. But be careful. The Slytherins are . . ."

"I will," said Harry with a mirthless smile. He couldn't have innocent young Gryffindors getting hurt over a feud that belonged to their parents.

"My," said Fleur, and fanned her face. "Ze French Ambassadors 'earby declare zemselves neutral to all of zese inter-house rivalries. Very unmannerly, if you ask me." She raised her nose imperiously.

The majority of the Gryffindor students at the table ignored her.

Harry approached the Slytherin table with no trace of fear. Draco seemed to know of his presence, and turned around, his eyes as malicious as Harry remembered them.

"I want a word with you, Malfoy," Harry announced, crossing his arms. He radiated far more power than he realized.

Draco looked nonchalant, but some of the other Slytherins had their hands on their wands. Did they really think he would attack Malfoy in front of the teachers? Had it gotten that bad?

"Just one word?" Draco questioned sarcastically. "I knew Gryffindors weren't good at forming coherent sentences, but this is just . . ." Laughter rang out behind him.

"Cut the pitiful act and get up, Malfoy. I said I wanted to talk to you," Harry snapped fiercely. The Slytherins around him shifted defensively.

Draco's eyes turned to ice. "If I feel like it, I _might _talk to you after dinner. Now get out of here. You're contaminating Pureblood air."

Harry stared at Draco with intensity, but nothing had flickered on the Slytherin's cold and disdainful face. Harry shook his head, and turned to leave. Draco was the same as ever. For one moment, Harry had been convinced that he had changed.

"So?" Dean asked as Harry took a seat at the Gryffindor table.

"I'm talking to him after dinner, apparently," Harry spat.

"Same old Malfoy," he heard Hermione say softly. There was a trace of sadness in her voice. Why did Harry find himself wishing it wasn't true?

* * *

Draco appeared in the hallway after dinner, as he had said he would. Harry waited there for him, stony faced. They decided to talk outside, away from prying eyes and ears. Whispers flew through the air; Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were negotiating. 

"Is anyone following you?" Harry asked abruptly, when they were out of hearing.

"No," Draco said honestly, and narrowed his eyes. "What about you?"

Harry shook his head and glanced around quickly. Why did he feel as if he were being watched?

"I hear some of your sixth years attacked a defenseless Slytherin third year," Draco said with soft malice. "Your house becomes exceedingly more pathetic."

"And yet we can never seem to surpass the pathetic Slytherins. Do you really blame the Gryffindors for Blaise's disappearance? How stupid can you get, Malfoy?"

The two young men glared, and were sharply reminded of why they hated one another. In France and Bulgaria, it had been easy to pretend that there was no Slytherin, no Gryffindor, no animosity. But at Hogwarts, they were like two generals of warring nations. They were helplessly pitted against one another on the brink of war. Friendship wasn't unlikely, it was impossible.

"_I _do not believe anything of the sort, Potter. As you always have, you generalize beyond all rationality."

"And _you, _Malfoy, make snide rhetorical comments when I am only looking for a word of truth."

"Then you will look forever. Truth is the biggest lie of all, Potter. It's honest people like you that don't understand that."

"I think you're deluded, Malfoy. You lie so much that you don't even know the meaning of truth anymore."

"Is there a difference between delusion and truth? Perception is reality, after all."

"If perception is reality, then how is it that you and I see the same Snitch as you do on the quidditch pitch?"

"The Slytherins weren'tat fault."

"_Don't _try to change the subject."

"I didn't."

"You did," said Harry fiercely.

"Maybe I did," replied Draco in a soft voice. "You were winning."

A ghost of a smile flitted across Harry's face, but he was quickly sobered by the fact that he had smiled at Draco. The old Draco. The one he couldn't trust.

"Look, Potter," Draco started in condescending tone, "as much as I would love to pound the pulp out of you Gryffindors, I am fortunately not as brash and single-minded as your substandard acquaintances, and though the notion of an accord has never been previously aforementioned, I am under the impression that it would benefit both my superior entourage and your uncultivated contemporaries."

Harry was silent after that. "Did I hear you propose a truce somewhere in that load of bullshit?"

"To put it in moronic Gryffindor terms, precisely."

"Then, yes," answered Harry, "your house drops their accusations about Blaise Zabini and we promise not to attack any more Slytherins. That is, of course, if you behave yourselves as well."

"It's a deal, then," Draco said. Harry stuck out his hand in a chivalrous fashion.

Draco smirked. "Like I would shake your hand," he added after a moment, before he walked away.

Harry stared after Draco, a frown fixed on his face as he stood alone by the lake. Eventually the frowned turned into a small smile, and he followed Draco inside.

* * *

"If you need anything, my room is down the hall on your left," Hermione said, keeping her eyes focused on Renae. When she looked at Fleur she felt too much like a maid or stewardess. The French Ambassadors had been given some old, unused guest rooms near the Head Boy and Girl dormitories. 

"Thank you, Hermione," Renae said graciously. "Your castle is beautiful, once again."

"We're honored to have you," Hermione replied with equal eloquence. She could practically feel Fleur roll her eyes as she turned to walk away.

Hermione made her way quickly to her Head Girl dorm, relieved to be back at Hogwarts. She didn't notice a shadow slip in behind her as she muttered the password and entered her room. On her bed, luggage was strewn around messily. She hated messes, and vowed to unpack in the morning. Haphazardly, Hermione dug through her luggage to find a nightdress.

Loosening her hair from its bun, she undid the first three buttons of her blouse.

"You really should be more careful with your password," came a voice from behind the wardrobe. She gasped in surprise and groped for her wand. "This is a time of war. Just about anyone could have gotten in here to snoop around, murder you . . . watch you undress."

Draco stepped out from behind the wardrobe, a contemplative expression on his face.

"Malfoy!" she said indignantly. "Of all the gall . . .! How dare you sneak into my room!"

"I thought it was rather chivalrous," he said with a smirk, "to make myself known _before _you lost the shirt. Who knows, maybe Potter is rubbing off on me."

"Harry never would have done it in the first place," she retorted. "Now what in the name of Merlin are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you," Draco said innocently, his gaze downcast. "And I can't exactly walk up to you in the Great Hall, now can I?"

"You certainly can't," she said sternly. "Malfoy, I don't think you get it. We're _enemies. _I can't trust you with anything. Our houses are at war and you expect me to believe that you . . . what? Wanted to _see_ me? You're probably a spy!"

"I know we're enemies," Draco answered seriously. "I've known that for a long time. I think it's _you _that just realized."

The slightest bit of uncertainly slipped into her features. Her face softened.

"I thought you had gone back to normal," she said a little more quietly.

Apparently he took this as an invitation to stay, and sat casually on her bed. She stepped away from the bed and from him.

"What _is _normal?" he asked expansively.

"Will you _stop _with the philosophical questions? They make you seem so jaded."

"I _am _jaded. Anyone who stays in this world long enough gets jaded. I already see it beginning in your precious Potter."

Hermione frowned. "I don't believe that Harry's jaded. Not jaded like you."

"Potter sees things exactly as I do. He has experienced as many awful things as I have. I see them staring back at me when I look into his eyes," Draco said, and met her gaze. She saw nothing staring back at her. Eyes were a window to the soul, and she saw _nothing _in his eyes.

"Harry hasn't seen awful things. Well, some," Hermione reasoned, "but not many more than me. He tells me everything."

Draco laughed at that, an awful chuckle. "He does not tell you everything. He cares too much about his favorite girl to do that. He only tells you what he wants you to know."

The way he sneered _favorite girl _had some other connotation. Anyone but Draco Malfoy, and she would have suspected he was jealous.

"That's not true," she said furiously. "You don't know him."

"Neither do you," Draco responded. Usually that wouldn't have hurt her. Recently, however, Harry had become steadily more reserved. It did hurt.

"No," Hermione said vehemently, at last regaining her footing. She never lost an argument. "But I do know that there is a difference between Harry and you. It's true that you may have seen equally terrible things, but the _way _you see them is completely different. You, Malfoy, you watch these horrendous events explode around you, and you know what? You_ accept _them. You accept that this is the way things are supposed to be, that humans are inherently evil, that nothing can be done. But Harry? Harry believes in redemption for the human race. He looks at bad individuals and thinks, 'You know what? This isn't how people really are. Somewhere there's something good in humans.' Redemption of the individual and redemption of the whole. He believes that things can be better. He _has _to," she finished.

"Redemption . . ." Draco started, but ceased quickly as a contemplative expression came into his eyes. "Hell, maybe you're right, Granger. Maybe you're actually right."

"Maybe I am," she said quietly. _Maybe I'm not. _

"Philosophical discussions aside," Draco intoned, "I came here to say that this whole Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry thing really isn't fun. Even though we're back at Hogwarts, I can't stop thinking about you. I don't want to end whatever weird thing it is we have going on."

There was only a short pause before Hermione replied, "Neither do I."

"Come somewhere with me," Draco pressed. "Tomorrow night. I swear you won't regret it."

The look in her eyes was all the answer he needed.

* * *

Draco shut her door and laughed. He thought he was doing good. Sickeningly agreeable personality? Check. Acting like a gentleman? Check. Letting her win the argument? Check. 

Things were going well.

((**A.N. **Next chapter is riddled with house elves, magical forest clearings, and romance. Review?))


	22. Evening Escapades and Elves

((**A.N. **Chapter 22. Thank you for all of your insightful comments . . . some of you guys are really starting to figure this stuff out! Well, enjoy.))

**

* * *

**

**PART III: SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN**

_But logic never could convince the **heart**_ . . .

_Colin Raye_

* * *

**Chapter 22; **Evening Escapades and Elves 

Draco awoke to the sound of pounding on his door; a high-pitched screech sounded from the other side. Cursing whatever mundane life form had been so unfortunate as to awaken him at this early hour, he wrenched open the door, scathing tongue at the ready.

On second thought, he admitted that Fleur Delacour was far from a mundane life form, especially when so scantily clothed. Her low-cut nightgown was wispy and sheer in all the right places. It still hadn't been very considerate of her to wake him up. Everyone else at Hogwarts knew better than to wake Draco before ten on weekends.

It took him a while to focus on her face and not her . . . nightgown. It was contorted in horror.

"Drah-co!" came a high-pitched scream. "Zer are giant _rats _in our common room!"

"Huh?" he uttered, and blinked once, trying to pull himself together.

"Rats! With 'uge ears! Zey are going to eat us!"

He wondered if this was all a very odd and nonsensical dream. It really seemed like the only explanation at this point.

Dream-Fleur grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hall. They shot past Hermione's room, and Dream-Fleur babbled in a loud and high-pitched voice the whole way. As last they reached the Ambassadors' guest rooms and Dream-Renae stood outside the door, a look of revulsion on her face.

The scene inside the common room was also surreal. Dream-Jaime wielded the fire poker jerkily, and had it pointed at two figures huddling in the corner. Dream-Michael looked pale and faint.

"See!" screamed Fleur, pointing at the huddling creatures accusingly. "Giant man-eating rats 'ave infested your castle!"

Draco responded by uttering a hysterical and slightly maniacal peal of laughter. It was a terribly rude thing to do, but the situation was hilarious. He didn't stop himself after one, either. He sat down and kept laughing. The hall outside rang with it, and he sounded like a total lunatic.

"They're house elves, you enormous bint," came a scornful and sarcastic voice from the doorway. Hermione stood there, hands on her hips, looking imperious and bushy-haired as ever.

She pushed past Draco, who was still gasping from his laughing fit. "You're completely useless," she snapped scathingly at Draco. "And put that down!" she ordered to Jaime and his fire poker.

She knelt down next to the house elves, and Draco's eyebrows flew up as her expression changed from annoyed to sickeningly compassionate.

"Poor things," she said softly, "you've scared them to death. C'mon, now, it's all right. Go to the kitchen and come back later."

"W-we being t-terribly sorry, Missus, please forgive us, we were not knowing . . ."

"It's okay. Don't worry. Just come back later," Hermione said sweetly. The elves scampered out.

Next she rounded on Fleur and the others, eyes filling with anger so quickly that Draco wondered briefly if she was bipolar. "Those are _house elves. _They cook food and clean for the castle, understand? Like the Brownies at Beauxbatons. Next time you frighten innocent little creatures like that, think twice!"

She was breathing raggedly, her eyes blazing. Draco had never seen her so worked up, and he found it rather cute.

"And put some clothes on!" Hermione added to Fleur disgustedly as an afterthought. She strode out and Draco stared after her, a dazed expression on his face. Then his lips crept upward into a smile.

Draco drifted back to his room, sad to say that the entire episode had not been a dream.

* * *

"Harry!" called Ernie, and caught up to him in the Great Hall. "I can't believe we have the whole week of classes off on account of the Ambassadors." 

"Yeah," said Harry with a grin. "Maybe my group will actually start the project we were assigned. Or not."

Harry waved goodbye to Ernie and took a seat at the Gryffindor table next to Ginny. She picked at her toast and didn't seem hungry at all.

"Eat up, Gin," he said softly, a worried frown creasing his forehead. She didn't look up or even acknowledge him. _She probably wants me to sod off, _Harry thought dismally. _She's probably thinking about her new boyfriend. _

"Why don't you tell me who he is?" Harry asked abruptly but gently.

The corners of Ginny's mouth twitched up ever so slightly as she picked at her toast with dogged persistence. "You wouldn't like him."

"Hey, you don't know that!"

"Then you wouldn't approve."

"I wouldn't _approve? _I'm not your father, Gin."

"But you want to protect me."

"What– where did you– that's not true–"

"It _is_ true, Harry. You're an awful liar, you always have been."

"I'm trying to help, and you're being ridiculous."

"You're asking questions I don't want to answer."

Hermione burst into the Great Hall, looking more ticked off than usual. She strode straight up to Harry and Ginny.

"The press found out," she said in a stony whisper, and thrust the Daily Prophet at Harry.

The headline read, "_Two Young Ambassadors Die in France: Is It Murder?_"

Harry put his head in his hands.

"What do we do now?" Ginny asked softly.

"We just don't comment on it, even if people ask us," Hermione replied bossily. "Not a word."

Harry nodded. It was a good idea, as usual.

"By the way," Hermione dropped her voice even lower, "I'm almost positive that Viktor is our man."

"Oh no, not you too," Harry groaned wearily, "has Malfoy finally convinced you to join the 'I despise Krum' club?"

"I wish it wasn't true," Hermione replied seriously, "but let's just say I've got some really good evidence against Viktor."

"What evidence?" Harry asked.

"Let's not go into it in the middle of the Great Hall," she answered.

They were silent after that for a moment, thinking.

"Where's Ron?" Hermione asked Harry with a small frown. "I've barely seen him at all since we got back."

"He's still sleeping," Harry said with a shrug. "It's odd. He never used to sleep late, even on weekends. He always wakes me up, usually. Guess he's just tired or something."

Hermione shrugged. "I hope he isn't sore about not getting chosen as an Ambassador. It wasn't our fault Dumbledore chose his sister over him."

Harry cast a furtive look at Hermione and moved his eyes toward Ginny. Hermione jumped slightly as she noticed Ginny sitting there, more absorbed in picking apart her toast than ever.

"Oh . . . sorry, Ginny," Hermione said quickly. "I didn't even . . . notice you there."

Ginny's expression didn't change. "Ron was happy for me," she said tightly, after a few moments.

Hermione's face fell. "Of course he was, I shouldn't have . . ."

"I'll see you later," Ginny said to them, and got up from the table without another word.

She had completely destroyed her toast.

* * *

Later that evening, Hermione jumped as her door creaked open. She had just finished pinning up her hair. 

It was Draco.

"You're early," she said imperiously, and checked her watch.

Draco checked his pure silver watch. "I'm right on time."

"Exactly," she said with a raised eyebrow.

He rolled his eyes. "The late rule is really overrated."

Hermione stepped out of her room with him and closed the door. She didn't want to look as if she'd been getting ready to see him or anything. Not that she _had_ been getting ready to see him.

Or anything.

But Draco noticed immediately that she looked different. Her hair was pinned up neatly and her brown eyes seemed more pronounced. Her clothes were also less baggy. Overall she looked casually neat and pretty. He would have to do his very best to mess her up by the end of the night.

"You still haven't told me where we're going," Hermione reminded him.

"Maybe it's a surprise. Maybe you don't always have to know everything," Draco intoned evenly.

"But–"

"I'm not telling you and that's final," Draco said, doing his best impersonation of McGonagall.

The ascended flights of stairs until they reached the Astronomy Tower's balcony. The sun was setting quickly, and the last of its rays lit up Draco face and hair, a thousand shades of silver in the evening. He didn't look so bad himself.

He pulled out his wand. "Accio Firebolt," he murmured.

"Malfoy, don't tell me we're going to–"

She was cut off soundly by a Firebolt whizzing into his hands.

"Fly?" he finished for her. "We are, actually. It's the only way to get where we're going."

"I _hate _flying," she whined. "I won't even fly with Harry."

"Potter's an awful person to fly with. Very self-centered."

"And you aren't?" she retorted.

"Self-centered? Not like Potter is."

"I know what you do with girls," Hermione continued ruthlessly.

Draco assumed a weary pose and said, "What do I _do _with girls?"

"You sleep with them and drop them like trash afterwards. That's what I call self-centered."

Draco was silent for a moment, gazing at the floor. As last he looked up, and she was surprised to see amusement in his eyes.

"Are you seriously gullible enough to believe every rumour bitter Gryffindors conjure up out of nowhere about me?" he lied flawlessly.

Hermione bit her lip and looked away. She had no idea how cute she was when she did that.

"C'mon," Draco continued, and held out his hand. "I'm not going to drop you, Granger. You know that."

As always, his words had double meanings. She stared at his hand, as if she could read his intentions from it. Draco could tell she wanted to believe him, and wanted to trust him. For some reason, he really wanted her to trust him too.

_It's because I have to get her to trust me in order to gain Potter's trust. That's all it is. _

Hermione took his hand, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. _I'm trusting you, _her face seemed to say. He smiled.

"Now," intoned Draco, "you can sit in front of me, and I'll hold onto you and steer . . ."

* * *

When, at last, they landed, Hermione felt that the overall experience could have been worse. The air had been sweet and refreshing, the view breathtaking, and then there had been Draco's body pressed against hers, and his arms wrapped around her waist . . . 

Not a bad experience, by any standards.

"Where are we?" she asked, glancing around curiously. They appeared to have landed in a random spot in the middle of the Forbidden Forest.

"I come here to think, mostly. It's a special place. I've actually never shown it to anyone else." This was one of the first things Draco had said to her that was true.

"It's not very interesting," Hermione said bluntly. Why had he taken her to the middle of nowhere?

"This isn't it!" Draco replied quickly. He took her hand–she shivered involuntarily–and led her to a clump of bushes. He pulled a fern back and ushered her in front of him. "This is."

Hermione gasped, scarcely able to believe that they were still in the Forbidden Forest.

The clearing was large in a small way, being that there was enough room to feel comfortable but not so much that it didn't feel private. Even in November, the ground was covered in a lush layer of grass, and ferns closed out the ominous forest. In the center of the clearing there was a deep, clear rock pool full of shimmering water. A small, silent waterfall trickled into the pool, catching the rays of moonlight and throwing them around the clearing. Trees clustered protectively overhead, though moonbeams filtered erratically through the branches. At first Hermione thought there were lanterns strung amongst the trees, drifting to and fro in the soft breeze, but quickly realized they were too phosphorescent to be lanterns. They had a bright, lily green color to them, and Hermione identified them quickly.

"Evening Lilies," she said reverently. "They are luminescent at night, and are one of the rarest specimens in the world . . ."

"I know," answered Draco.

The Evening Lilies lit up the entire clearing, and cast a soft greenish-blue light into the depths of the pool. Coupled with the harsh light of the moon, the clearing seemed truly magical.

"This place is . . . I don't even know," Hermione breathed. "How did you find it?"

"I just came across it, one day, flying," Draco said. He doubted he would ever tell her how he really came across it.

Hermione walked to the side of the pool and gazed down into its sparkling depths.

"If magical botanists found this place, they would go insane with excitement. It's like–"

But she had not noticed Draco sneak up stealthily behind her, a demonic smirk on his face. He prepared to give her a soft shove, but she whirled around at the last moment.

"What–?" she started, but his eyes were locked on hers. He took a hold of her shoulders and pushed her lightly backwards, as he had in France. With an enormous yelp, she toppled into the pool.

Feeling the shock of water hit her skin, she instinctively struggled up from the blackness. She sputtered indignantly as she broke the surface, treading water. The pool wasn't as cold as she had expected. For late autumn, it was actually quite warm.

"MALFOY!" she screamed angrily, glaring daggers at his silvery silhouette. "You're awful! What was _that _for?"

"It was for ruining my clothes at Beauxbatons!" he cried, a laugh sounding down into the water. "Now we're even."

"You . . .!" she said, too angry for words. "In France you shoved me into the rain first. We are so _not _even."

She realized dazedly that Draco was unbuttoning his shirt. He cast it off quickly into the grass. His chest looked sleek and muscled in the soft light. He spoke, "I only pushed you into the rain because you told me to!" Then he dove headfirst into the pool, and water flew into Hermione's face. Draco surfaced a few feet from her, dripping wet and eloquent. "So what is your defense to that?" he asked softly. The way her clothes were plastered over her body did not go unnoticed by Draco.

"My defense is . . . well, it's that . . ." she trailed off as they drifted closer. Her hair had come halfway out of its bun, and floated gently around her.

Looking at Draco, she had a really hard time thinking of a defense.

"Is that I'm a deceitful and conniving prat?" he suggested slowly, his face so close that she could see every individual eyelash.

"Is that you're an arrogant and self-involved moron, actually," Hermione said softly, with a tiny smile.

"Well," Draco replied, and touched her face, "I think you're a hypocritical and somewhat commandeering know-it-all."

His lips brushed her cheek for a moment and she felt herself tingle from head to toe. How was it possible to be so warm in a cold pool of water?

"Then maybe . . ." she breathed softly, as the distance between their lips closed at an alarming rate, "maybe we're even."

But "even" was cut off as their lips met forcefully, and Hermione felt an explosion of pleasure within her stomach. It was as if she had been waiting for this moment forever, although she hadn't realized it.

Their kiss in the rain had been full of anger and uncertainty and explosive emotion. In the hallway at Beauxbatons, it had been soft and deep. Hermione always found the description "passionate kiss" both repulsive and cliche, but passionate was really the only word she would later find to describe their kiss. It was full of love and hate and anticipation and frustration and something else she couldn't identify.

The bottom of the pool was too deep to touch, and she found herself sinking slowly into the water. She put her arms around Draco's neck for balance and pulled him closer. She was surprised when she felt his hands on her thighs. He slipped her legs around his hips, and she felt an odd, deep roiling inside her stomach at this proximity.

She kissed him again, harder this time; it was a more pronounced, articulate kind of kiss.

They had reached the side of the pool (due to Draco's steering, which she had been too preoccupied to notice), and he lifted her out. Hermione's legs were still wrapped around his pelvis, and she scarcely noticed where he was taking them due to fascination with his dripping lips.

He set her down on the soft bed of grass, her hair out splayed out around her, glistening and wet in the cool air. She vaguely noticed the luminescent lilies blowing in the soft breeze, and was overtaken with a sense of perfection.

She hadn't even realized how badly she had wanted to kiss him until she had done it. Her mouth turned to flame, and it was nothing less than mandatory that she pull him closer. He was like a dangerous and addictive drug that she would get more of at any price.

She had never come anywhere close to feeling this way about another boy. Ever.

His hands trailed slowly from her neck to her shoulders, and then down her back.

Her mind reached for some way to justify her actions with logic, for any train of thought that could have led her to the conclusion that it was okay to snog Draco Malfoy in the middle of the Forbidden Forest. Unsurprisingly, she found no justification.

Hermione drew in her breath as he placed his full body weight on top of her. His chest was toned and smooth, and the feeling of his body pressed so close to hers brought forth a new sensation. Heat began radiating relentlessly from the center of her body. As he kissed her more firmly, she felt her breathing speed up.

She reached with no avail for logic. Where was her constant companion? Why hadn't she thought the situation through logically? There was a bleary haze clouding her brain, and every moment it seemed that her precious logic slipped farther and farther from her grasp.

Sonorous shocks of pleasure engulfed her as Draco pinned her down more firmly. He began unbuttoning her blouse and cast it off quickly into the grass. Her bare skin on his was sensual, and his mouth slipped to her neck. He caressed her skin languidly with his lips. Her hands slid to his back and she ran her fingers along the smooth skin. She felt him give a shiver of pleasure.

Her brain was more mottled than ever as she made a final and desperate attempt to retain some form of logic. This attempt failed. Draco was driving her crazy and there was nothing she wanted more.

Hermione did something she had never done in her life. She threw logic and common sense out the window.

Or at least, she almost did.

But logic never entirely left her. She was afraid of trusting Draco, afraid of letting herself go, afraid of being out of control, afraid of not understanding, afraid of liking him, and most of all afraid of loving him.

As she had done in the hallway in Beauxbatons, she pushed firmly on his chest. This time Draco did not budge.

"Malfoy," Hermione started, warning in her voice. She did not trust herself with Draco for one more second. She was on the verge of letting him continue. He attempted to silence her with a kiss, but she turned her face away.

"Malfoy!" she repeated persistently, as she pushed him away more urgently. He remained on top of her, but looked into her eyes intently. At last Draco realized she was serious; she didn't want to go any further.

"Malfoy, stop," she said more softly, feeling small under him. He was breathing hard, through his nostrils.

"And what if I don't want to?" he asked her back. Despite what he had said earlier about not being self-centered, Draco Malfoy had always gotten everything he wanted.

Now he wanted Hermione more than anything and he wasn't going to get her unless he forced her to keep going.

With a groan that seemed half pent-up lust and half frustration, he took himself off of her.

"Do you realize that you drive me absolutely crazy, Granger?" he said angrily, eyes flashing up to meet hers. She sat up, and Draco looked furious. "You drive me crazy in so many more ways than you know."

Truth rang in this statement, which was, for once, far from a lie.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy," she said softly, out of breath, "but I just haven't thought this over . . . it isn't logical . . ." she trailed off as she realized that he was really angry.

"Get up," he ordered in a deadly tone. Draco looked as if he wanted to break her neck. She didn't obey.

"And what if I don't want to?" she mimicked sarcastically. Draco noted that someday her sharp tongue would get her into trouble. He grabbed her arm roughly and jerked her up. Then he spoke.

"You see these evening lilies, clustered around this pool? How can so many grow in one place, like a common daisy? It isn't logical, is it? This whole clearing isn't even logical, is it? A beautiful clearing in the middle of a deadly forest doesn't make sense, does it? Or . . . or what about the stars up there? Do you think they planned themselves out _logically? _I am so tired of hearing about your _pros _and your _cons. _You're pathetic. Can't you do anything without weighing the consequences? You can't live your life like that, Granger, so don't even try."

"You could be lying to me!" Hermione said in defense. "This could all be an act on your part! You can't erase seven years of hatred in two weeks, Malfoy. It just doesn't work like that."

Draco looked at her indefinitely (had he ever been indefinite?) and an expression flitted across his face that she couldn't be sure of. It had looked suspiciously close to guilt. Draco let out a slow and thoughtful breath.

"C'mon, Granger. Don't you trust me? What do I have to do?"

Hermione was silent for a great deal of time, looking at the ground as intently as Draco was gazing at her.

"I don't know," she said, looking up at last. There were tears in her eyes. "I don't know. Maybe you could start by flying me back to the castle."

"We're not going anywhere," Malfoy asserted firmly, "until you tell me what you're so afraid of."

"Afraid of?"

"Yes." He did not elaborate.

She considered answering, and took a deep breath. "I might be afraid that I'm losing control."

"And?"

"I might be afraid that there's something bigger and more important out there than knowledge. I might be afraid that logic has been my guiding force throughout my entire life, and that logic tells me you're awful. I might be afraid that my heart tells me something completely different."

_I might be afraid that I'm falling in love with you, _she added silently.

"I once had a quidditch coach," Draco told her, "who said that if you're in control of your broom then you're just not going fast enough. Because I don't know about you, but I'd rather crash into the ground than lose the game without ever having a hope of winning."

A few moments of silence followed those words.

A tear dripped off of Hermione's nose. "Why do you have to be so right?" she accused him. Suddenly she found that she had somehow fallen against his chest, and that he was holding her tightly. Suddenly she found that she was crying harder than before.

"Because sometimes you have to be wrong," Draco said softly. "Even you, Granger. Sometimes you have to be proven wrong."

She was wrong about this. Hermione had been so obsessed with control and logic that she had never taken a chance. _This isn't how I'm supposed to live life, _she realized.

She sank down on the ground, her agony sharp and wounding. Draco sat on the ground also, and held her still. Sobbing softly, she sank back against him, and they both lay back in the magical clearing, watching the evening lilies drift listlessly. It wasn't long before she had fallen asleep in her worst enemy's arms.

As Draco fell asleep, he realized that he couldn't see the stars.

((**A.N.** And finally, D/Hr get some real romance, after twenty-two chapters. It's about time, huh? Next chapter, Harry finds out about Draco and Hermione's relationship, and Draco's plan backfires in his face.))


	23. Forgiving and Forgetting

((**A.N. **Hello everyone, here's Chapter 23. Too late, I know. There have been problems with this website lately though, one of them being that the formatting is messed up. They won't allow me to insert line breaks for scene changes. So temporarily, this **ooo **will be the signal for a scene change. Sorry if that's confusing; it's the best way I can think of for right now. Thanks for all the reviews; they make me incredibly happy! Enjoy the chapter, hope it's worth the wait.))

**PART III: SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN**

**ooo**

_**Lie** for fun and fake the way I hold you . . . let you fall for every** empty word **I say. _

_Brand New_

**ooo**

**Chapter 23**; Forgiving and Forgetting

Draco awoke to the color blue. It took him a moment to realize that the blue represented sky.

He sat up suddenly as memories came flooding back. Hermione in the pool, Hermione with her legs around him, her hair splayed out around her like a chestnut halo on the grass.

He ran a hand through his hair. Had they . . . ? No. He remembered the sharp disappointment of taking his body off of hers, of realizing that he had failed to seduce her.

_I still want her, _Draco thought with dismay. _I want her more than I've ever wanted anyone. _

He realized also that it was a different kind of want.

He wanted her body, for one. He wanted to explore every crevice; he wanted it to be his. He wanted her in the mindless way that teenage boys sometimes wanted girls. He wanted her in a way that would fill up the emptiness within himself. He wanted her selfishly, lustfully, hollowly.

But then there was something else.

Sometimes he wanted to hear her laugh, and sometimes he loved watching her when she wasn't looking. Sometimes he was content with talking to her, and sometimes he just wanted her to bite her lip in that thoughtful way she had.

"What's wrong with me?" Draco asked the dead air around him. He felt like he had an awful disease. He had never been an obsessive type of person, but Hermione was on his mind more than he liked to admit.

He looked once at her softly sleeping form, and walked around the pool to retrieve his shirt.

The Plan. He had to get back to the plan. He was supposed to seduce Hermione in order to gain Harry's trust. That was the plan. That was all.

Pushing her into the water had been part of the plan. Shagging her had been part of the plan. Letting her fall asleep in his arms had _not _been part of the plan. Holding her while she cried had _not _been part of the plan.

Doing these things suggested that he cared about her, or something equally as ridiculous. She was just a pawn to use to get what he wanted.

_What doI_ _want? _he asked himself. _Do I want what my father wants?_

He heard a slight stirring behind him, and he knew that Hermione had woken up. He visualized the plan, vowing not to stray from it this time.

**ooo**

The first thing Hermione was aware of was that her anagram independent study paper was due tomorrow. The second thing she was aware of was that she had no blouse on.

Opening her eyes groggily, she tried to remember why she wasn't wearing a top.

Draco.

She gasped. Her blouse was wiggling back and forth in front of her face. Draco was standing over her, holding her shirt and wearing an unvarnished smirk.

She took the blouse. "Oh my lord," she said softly, remembering everything that had occurred the night before. She slipped her shirt over her bra and buttoned it.

"Merlin! You've finally realized that Dr. Fillibuster's fireworks really are wet-start, haven't you?" Draco asked, and somehow managed to refrain from rolling his eyes.

Noting but not commenting on the wry sarcasm in his voice, she stood and brushed herself off.

"Malfoy, it's already nine or ten, people are probably wondering where we are, I have to work on my project, we have to get back to the cas–"

"Granger," Draco cut her off, exasperated, "can you just relax for three seconds?"

Her face softened. "Maybe for two," she said after awhile.

"I'm going to get my broom," he said carefully, with a small, patient smile, "and then we can go back."

He started to walk out of the clearing but Hermione's voice stopped him.

"You were right last night," she said to his back. "I was wrong. About having control issues, I suppose. I always thought that if I could micro-manage my whole bloody life, I'd be okay. But I guess that isn't what life is about. It's about taking chances . . . you made me see that."

Draco knew it was unheard of for Hermione to admit she was wrong. It had taken a lot to admit it to Draco Malfoy, the one person who would remind her of it for the rest of her life.

Draco didn't say anything, but had he been turned toward her, she would have seen a thoughtful frown come over his features.

He walked away, and she gaped. Why hadn't he said something snarky, or laughed as she had expected him to? Why hadn't he smirked about it or rubbed it in her face?

There were things about Draco she would never understand.

**ooo**

Ernie, who had classes off that morning, decided to give Renae a tour of the castle.

"This castle is so intricate," Renae murmured as they walked along the edge of the roof.

"Hogsmeade, a full-fledged Wizarding village, is within walking distance," he told her.

"Walking distance? You can tell a lot about a person by the way they walk, you know," Renae said conversationally.

"Oh?" asked Ernie. "How so?"

"Take Harry, for instance," she asserted. "He walks very directly, and usually people move out of _his _way. His strides are even, and his shoulders are squared. It's obvious just from the way he walks that he knows he's worth something, but he doesn't let it go to his head. Draco, on the other hand, has a downright arrogant stride. You'll notice he always has his head turned up, and he swings his arms as if he doesn't care if he hits anyone."

"That's quite perceptive of you," Ernie replied after a moment. "I'm curious, though. Why is it that you don't even have a trace of a French accent?"

Renae tensed slightly at this question, thrown off guard by the rapid change of subject.

"I just started attending Beauxbatons this year . . . had you heard that?"

Ernie nodded agreeably.

"I'm not actually from France at all," she admitted, keeping her gaze downcast.

Ernie got the feeling that she didn't want to talk about it. With a jolt, he remembered Krum distinctly mentioning that Renae had no accent.

That was impossible. How could a person have _no _accent? Ernie took no notice of the accents of himself and his friends, but that was because he was so used to hearing a British accent. He had merely assumed that Renae had a British accent as well. But if she did, then how could Krum say that she had no accent? He would only say she had no accent if it was similar to the Bulgarian accent _he_ spoke with.

And Renae did not have a Bulgarian accent.

It was very strange, but Ernie did not press the matter further.

**ooo**

Draco and Hermione landed on the roof of Hogwarts at last, somewhat to Hermione's relief. She dismounted from the broom in front of Draco, and opened her mouth to say something to him.

A dark figure rushed up to them threateningly, and it was amazing how quickly Draco got Hermione behind him. He had unsheathed his wand and pointed it at the figure instantly. When he saw who it was, the wand slipped out of his fingers and clattered uselessly to the floor.

Harry Potter.

_I'm dead, _Draco thought. _A goner. A ghost. A corpse. No. A maimed corpse. At least, that's how I'll be when Potter gets through with me. _

Harry had watched as Draco shoved Hermione behind him, and he didn't understand that it had been a protective gesture.

"Let go of her," he said in a viciously pitiless voice.

"Oh, boy," Draco said, admitting that he had become somewhat paralyzed with fear. Harry took this as some kind of confession, and consequently lunged at Draco, tackling him to the ground. He had never been more scared of Harry. There was some hurricane in the boy's green eyes that made Draco realize he had awakened a sleeping lion. In that moment, he understood that he had not known of Harry's capability to fight until right then. Harry hadn't been this angry when Draco had belittled his parents, even. His parents were mere memories, whereas Hermione was the only living family he had.

Draco tried to struggle away but it was completely useless. Harry was so much stronger than Draco had ever understood.

Potter simply could not comprehend that Hermione had gone anywhere with Draco by her own free will. Therefore, Harry's irrational mind immediately leapt to the conclusion that he had forced her to go somewhere with him. What if he had taken her to Voldemort? What if he had hurt her?

"What the hell are you playing at, Malfoy! You _rotten, rat-faced _coward, you _fucking _imbecile, I'm going to–"

"Potter," Draco gasped, his breathing labored due to the fact that Harry's hand had gone to his throat. "You irrational neanderthal, just let me explain–"

"Harry!" Hermione cried from behind them, at last regaining her voice. "Stop it! Please!"

"Ugh," Draco said from beneath Harry, trying but failing to breathe in enough air. His plan had backfired so horribly that he was at a loss for words. He would seriously be lucky if he got out of this alive.

Harry looked confused at Hermione's words but didn't let up.

"Harry, listen to me," Hermione said firmly. "Draco didn't do anything wrong."

"That means, 'Get off of me, you wanker,'" Draco croaked painfully.

Harry at last released his grip on Draco's throat and lurched back, his wand still trained on the Slytherin's heart.

"What's going on?" Harry asked Hermione a little more gently. The blind rage seemed to be receding slightly, but Draco would never forget the expression in Harry's eyes from a few moments ago. _Voldemort should be scared, _Draco thought wryly. _Voldemort should be **very** scared. _

"Oh, God, Harry," Hermione said, her complexion ashen, "I didn't mean for you to find out like this . . ."

"Find out what?" There was a taut, tightly controlled panic behind Harry's tone.

"That," Hermione started slowly, "well . . ."

"That you and Malfoy are together," Harry said with a contrived sort of calm, glancing from Hermione to Draco. "That you've liked each other for some time. That I just completely overreacted because of the sometimes hindering fact that Malfoy's face makes me want to go on a killing spree."

"Twenty points to Gryffindor," Draco said a little bit breathlessly. But why hadn't Harry destroyed him yet? Where was the pain?

"I don't believe this," Harry said, his eyes filling with confusion. "Actually, I _do _believe this. I've suspected it for a while now. Ever since that dancing in France, I suspected that something was going on between you two. I didn't know where you were half the time, Hermione," he reminisced, voice taking on a soft distant quality. It was as if he was talking to himself more than them. "I knew Hermione had a boyfriend, but I guess I just didn't think . . . no . . . I didn't want to _believe _it was you."

He turned to Draco with hard eyes. Draco felt a weird little stab of guilt somewhere down in his stomach, and maybe something also akin to disappointment. Hermione remained ghastly silent.

"Yeah, I believe that you two are together," Harry repeated, "but what I _cannot_ believe is that you didn't tell me, Hermione."

He turned to her and there was blatant hurt in his eyes, some weakness Draco didn't think he had ever seen in Harry Potter. Hermione's face looked like it was about to shatter.

"She doesn't have to tell you everything," Draco said coolly, aware that the boy's wand was still trained on him. "You don't own her. You're not her keeper."

"This doesn't have anything to do with possession. You wouldn't understand that, Malfoy." Harry looked at Hermione straight on. "This has to do with friendship. Hermione . . . do you have any idea how dangerous he is? Lucius Malfoy's son? Do you know how irresponsible it is of you to wander off alone with him without telling a soul? I've known you since you were eleven years old, Hermione Granger, and I know you aren't stupid or cowardly. But not telling me about this is the stupidest, most cowardly thing you've ever done. I thought we were better friends than that. I thought you were at least brave enough to tell me you liked Malfoy, at least smart enough to keep yourself out of danger. Guess I was wrong," he said the last part softly, disbelievingly.

This gentle reprimand was worse than him yelling, or being angry. Silent tears trickled down her face, and for some reason Harry was really starting to piss Draco off. What was wrong with the greened-eyed halfwit? Couldn't he see that he was hurting her?

"D-Draco wouldn't hurt me. I _know _that," Hermione said shakily. "I wasn't being stupid."

Harry shook his head, as if refusing to believe it, but then met Malfoy's eyes steadily. The Gryffindor seemed to search for something . . . hadn't Snape said that the boy was skilled in Legilimency?

"He wouldn't hurt me," Hermione repeated desperately.

"I know," said Harry after a moment, looking away at last. Draco felt as if Harry had looked into his soul. "That isn't even the point."

"I wasn't stupid, but cowardly?" Hermione continued softly. "I was terrified of telling you I liked him. I won't deny that. It _was _cowardly not to tell you."

Her words were beseeching and fragile and suddenly Draco understood that she would be lost without Harry's friendship, and he without hers. Yet another thing Draco could put onto the list of concepts he would never quite understand: emotional dependence.

And then Draco witnessed something that only Harry Potter could do, and it was like a sudden burst of light behind Draco's eyes. It shocked him that much, at least.

One moment Harry's eyes were full of anger, betrayal, pain, worry, and disappointment. In the next moment he let it go.

He forgave her.

Without a question, without a hitch, without so much as an apology from Hermione, he let it go. Because people made mistakes. Because he loved her.

"It's okay," he said to the girl, who almost collapsed in relief. She opened her mouth to speak.

"Harry, just because Draco and I . . . well, it's not like . . . you know I'll _never_ . . . you're my best . . ."

And somehow he understood what she was trying to say without the words, and he nodded and suddenly they were in one another's arms and then Draco snapped out of it and felt like puking at the sappy Gryffindor show of emotion.

But something lingered at the back of his mind, something that Hermione had said to him.

_Harry? Harry believes in redemption . . . redemption of the individual and redemption of the whole. _

Draco had until that moment seen forgiveness as a weakness. Now he saw it as a strength.

He wasn't stupid enough to think that Harry had the divinity in him to forgive Draco for everything he had done, but he couldn't help another thought flitting across his mind like a hard-to-catch butterfly, like a wisp of cloud across the blank afternoon sky.

_Could Hermione forgive me?_

For every spiteful comment, every hateful jeer, every unwanted encounter, every stolen kiss, every lie?

It was a desperate, unfounded hope, something that he wanted without even knowing why.

It would never happen. He could not ask that much from her.

But that people _could _forgive one another, that people could let it go, that people could love unconditionally . . . that much gave him hope. Maybe someday he would make all of this up to her . . . all of these political games, these lies.

Maybe not.

"I hate to interrupt the moment," Draco drawled, making it obvious that he was, on the contrary, disgusted at the scene, "but I'm getting the feeling that I'm co-starring in some sappy Shakespearian drama. I think I'm going to leave."

"No, you're not," said Harry matter-of-factly, pulling away from Hermione. "You go on ahead, Hermione. I want to talk to Malfoy alone for a second."

Oh, no. Here it came. Potter was going to pound the crap out of him.

"Okay," Hermione said with a small smile. She seemed reasonably less upset. With a Be Nice look at both Draco and Harry, she left.

Harry turned to Draco, his expression absolutely unamused.

"Do you want to know what I see in her eyes when she looks at you?" Harry asked him point blank.

"What?" he asked.

"Trust," Harry said heavily, dejectedly. "Pretty, brown, innocent trust . . . maybe even the same amount of trust I see when she looks at me. Maybe more."

Draco was shocked. Did Hermione really trust him that much?

"I could hate you for that," Harry continued blatantly, "because you're the least trustworthy person I've possibly ever known. I don't know what you did to get her to trust you that much, but I can tell that she'll keep on trusting you right until you stab her in the back, if that's what it comes down to. I can't stop her."

"Potter . . . that's not how it is. I'm not going to stab her in the back," Draco said wearily. But wasn't that what he had been planning to do all along?

Harry sighed, and then spoke.

"Believe it or not . . . I don't think you will. You're a Slytherin, a Malfoy, a conniving schemer, a ruthless tactician, and a Muggle hater. But I guess I realized somewhere between Bulgaria and France that contrary to the popular belief, you're not actually a bad guy."

Draco almost fainted. Had Potter just . . . had he just . . .?

"That doesn't mean I like you any better," Harry assured him. "It wouldn't matter if you handed out cookies to orphans at Christmastime. We'll never get along."

Draco smirked. "You had me scared for a second there, Potter."

"This doesn't change anything between us," Harry reassured him stonily. "We're still in a war. We're still enemies. I'm just not so sure I look down on you anymore. Maybe you're someone I respect. Because Hermione trusts you, and that girl has more common sense than the rest of the Gryffindor house combined. But if you ever give me the slightest reason to hurt you, I will do so without question. One chance, Malfoy, that's all you get from me. Hurt her and there aren't words for what I'll do to you."

Draco was silent for a moment.

"That was pret-ty threatening, Potter," Draco said after a brief silence. "But you know what?"

"What?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"I'm not usually wrong about people," Draco said grudgingly. "I was wrong about you."

"What do you mean?"

"You've got a lot of Slytherin in you. You and I . . . we aren't so different. Kind of in the same position, actually. Quidditch captains. Figureheads of our houses. Ambassadors. We'll never be friends, you're right. But I think we understand one another."

"Am I dreaming or did you really just say we were alike?" Harry asked incredulously.

Draco laughed. "Sometimes we're more alike than we are different. Sometimes I just want to strangle you until you shut up for good."

"We _are _alike, then," Harry replied grimly, "because I was just thinking the exact same thing."

As he walked away from Harry, Draco asked himself a confounding question. _How much of what I just said was a lie?_ He had lied so frequently that he couldn't discern what was sincere anymore. But he got the sickening feeling that a lot of what he had said was too real for comfort.

((**A.N.** I'm not going to tell you what happens next chapter, for once. Why give it away? You'll just have to wait and see.;D))


	24. Living a Lie

((**A.N. **Chapter 24 here. Well, it's been about two weeks. I hope you guys like the chapter, thanks for the reviews!))

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* * *

**

**PART III: SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN**

_I lie for **only you **. . . and I lie well. **Hallelujah**_

– _Brand New_

* * *

**Chapter 24;** Living a Lie 

Draco dreamed.

It was not the dream of the silver dragon, nor was it the deep brown dream like the ones that had assailed his nights recently. This dream had the sharp clarity of reality, the acid bite of wakefulness.

A black-haired man with grey eyes stared at him stonily. Draco was sure he had never seen the man before, but there was some odd familiarity in his features, some mixture of facial aspects that sent a shiver down Draco's spine.

The man handed him a sword wordlessly, and Draco reached out and grasped the sword, which looked notably unimpressive aside from the fact that the blade was pure black. It looked as if it were made of onyx, but as Draco touched it he found it to be sharp as steel. He noticed something engraved along the blade, but the writing was in a runic language. The words suddenly swirled around and became English. They burnt into his eyes, pure and painful.

"For everything I could not be," Draco read in a bemused voice, and suddenly the sword turned into a black cobra. He yelped and dropped it instinctively. The earth below him rumbled. Finally, the man spoke in a hiss that grated against his ears.

"Starlight shines on the eye."

Draco sat up in bed and gasped. The words from the sword were imprinted behind his eyes.

_For everything I could not be._

* * *

"Filthy Slytherin," a nameless Gryffindor spat at the green and silver table. Shaking his head, Draco stood up. He had lost his appetite. The physical brawling had stopped due to Harry and Draco's truce, but hate still emanated more dangerously than ever between the two tables. 

Draco grabbed the Gryffindor by the wrist when most of the professors weren't watching and whirled her around. Some fifth year girl whose name he didn't even know.

"You say that ever again," he whispered into her ear, "and I swear to Merlin I'll make you wish you'd never been born, you filthy Muggle-loving bitch."

He pushed her away from him so hard that she stumbled. She hurried away, tears in her eyes.

Draco didn't even bother looking at the Gryffindor table as he sat down heavily. He didn't want to see the disappointment or wariness in their eyes. He knew that if the situation had escalated any further Harry would have been across the hall to break it up in less than three seconds.

But Draco had to do it. He had to keep the Gryffindors in line, and show them that no one disrespected Slytherin, at least not while he was around. The Slytherins sitting around him looked both proud and appreciative for what he had done.

Dinner ended, and he immediately exited the Great Hall, not in the mood for conversation.

Slytherins and Gryffindors didn't go anywhere alone anymore. They didn't risk it. Draco figured he could handle any Gryffindor punk who tried to attack him.

A hand grabbed his wrist and jerked him inside of an empty classroom. He took hold of the attacker's shoulders and slammed him roughly against the wall of the classroom.

Or her.

It was Hermione.

He released her immediately and slumped. "I swear to God I almost just hexed your head off. Don't _ever_ do that again."

"How else am I supposed to get you alone?" she asked him breathlessly. "I just wanted to make sure that Harry didn't hex _your _head off earlier today."

"I'm still here, aren't I?" Draco asked her acidly.

"I guess your private conversation didn't go too badly, then."

Everything was tinted blue in the murky classroom, and Hermione's skin looked smooth and pearly. Something about her face in that moment was irresistible and crisp and clear. It cut through the haze in his brain and brought reality into sharp focus.

"Why do you have to be so pretty?" he asked her half angrily. Why was there something about the girl that made him want to push her back up against the wall?

"What happened to calling me a bushy-haired freak?" she interrogated suspiciously.

Draco met her eyes steadily.

"I think we both know you stopped being a bushy-haired freak three or four years ago."

"Ah," answered Hermione knowingly, "so now I'm just bushy-haired."

Draco hesitated before speaking next. It was a tiny hesitation, one that Hermione did not fail to notice.

"I've got something I've been meaning to give you," Draco told her slowly. "C'mon."

He took her hand and tried to tug her out of the room.

"Are you crazy, Draco! People will see us!"

He paused, a frown coming over his features. "Come up to my room in ten minutes. No one ever walks by there anyway."

"All right," she said, a little bit disappointed.

"And don't be late," Draco added with a wink as he exited.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Hermione found herself standing in front of a portrait of two English men playing croquet. 

"Dear me, young lady, are you here to see the master?" one asked her politely.

"Mister Malfoy!" the other called obnoxiously. "It's another one of your nighttime guests!" His wiggled his eyebrows at her.

"Keep it down," she said furiously, glancing around.

The portrait hole swung open, and three boys stepped out. They were Avery, Nott, and Malfoy.

"What's Potter's little whore doing here at this hour?" Avery asked sharply when he saw her, and smirked slightly.

Hermione didn't even blink. "It's Head business. Now if you two inbred morons would sod off so I could get this over with, I'd be delighted."

"Oh, but the Golden Girl herself alone in Slytherin territory at night? I think it would be immoral of us not to mess up your innocent face," Theodore Nott told her agreeably.

"You guys get out of here," Draco said lazily, "I'll handle her. I don't want this Mudblood to be around me for too long. I can already feel the filth rubbing off onto me."

Avery looked resentfully at Hermione before turning away. "Later, Draco."

Hermione stepped into Draco's room.

"Not bad, Miss Granger," he said as he closed the door behind him. He looked somewhat impressed. "Where did you learn to act so well?"

"From _you,_" she said teasingly. "So I'm dirty, am I?"

"You're absolutely filthy," Draco told her in a soft voice. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer, eyes twinkling. "I just want to roll in the mud with you."

She hit him playfully and laughed. "I thought you were a cultured aristocrat, Mr. Malfoy. Now I see you're no better than a farm boy."

"You'd be surprised, actually," he said darkly. "The Pureblood aristocracy is notorious for being prim, classy, and formal. But you get those Death Eaters alone in a room and it's not pretty."

"What were Avery and Nott doing here?" she asked him with a frown.

"They just wanted to talk for a minute," Draco replied absently. "Anyway, forget about them. I have a present for you."

Hermione frowned at him curiously. It wasn't like Draco to buy people presents. As he retrieved a velvet box and handed it to her, she felt as if something was out of place.

"Open it," Draco ordered her imperiously.

Glancing at him uncertainly, she opened the box.

And gasped.

Offset by white velvet was the gleaming black pearl she had seen in France and had not been able to afford. She lifted it out carefully, admiring the glimmer of the sapphires around the pearl.

"How did you– that's where you disappeared to that day before we got on the train in Beauxbatons, wasn't it?"

He nodded, reclining carefully against his desk and trying to gauge her reaction.

"Draco, it's beautiful," she started, "but as far as I know, we've just gotten past the 'I'm not going to push you into a pit of seething lava just to spite you' part of our relationship. Since when do you buy me ridiculously expensive jewelry?"

"Since I decided that it would look good on you," Draco said simply. "You wanted it and I could afford it."

Hermione clasped the jewelry around her neck, and felt awkward wearing such an expensive necklace. Hermione remembered something Draco had told her once. He had said he didn't take girls on dates, didn't present them with flowers, didn't buy them jewelry.

"I don't get it," Hermione said, sitting down hard on the bed.

"What?" Draco asked.

"Am I not just another girl to you?" she asked him softly, directly. Hermione was an intelligent girl. She knew that the rumours about Draco were mostly true. He used girls, dropped them, and treated them like trash. He acted like the spoiled heir he was. Hermione had figured she was just another fascination, another fling. That was why she didn't want to face the fact that she was maybe, possibly, mildly, in love with him.

"Just another girl?" he asked again, frowning.

"Draco . . . buying me jewelry is something that you would never do."

"I would say that your point was valid," Draco answered with a light smile, "expect for the slightly hindering fact that I _did_."

"Look," said Hermione, "I'm not going to flatter myself by thinking that you . . . care about me enough to buy me jewelry. Because you don't. It just isn't like you."

Draco looked slightly uncomfortable. For him, this was completely uncharacteristic.

"I think you're trying to buy _me,_" Hermione stated bluntly.

"I . . . no!" Draco answered, bright spots flaring on his cheeks.

"You try to act mature and thoughtful," she continued mirthlessly, "but this is still just a big game to you, isn't it?"

He actually looked dismayed, and slight guilt shone in his eyes. How had she divined everything he hadn't wanted her to know in one guess? And even worse; why did he feel so guilty that she was right?

"Granger . . . buying you was never my intention."

"Stop lying," she said ruthlessly. "It doesn't work very well with me, have you noticed?"

Draco looked at her before he brought his hands slowly up to his head and raked them through his hair.

"Maybe I wanted to impress you," he said. "Maybe it was the only way I knew to show you that I could . . . take care of you."

Hermione's face softened almost imperceptibly.

"I need to know something," Draco uttered suddenly. His face had gone white, but he looked determined. "And so do you."

"What are you talking about?"

"Accio Veritaserum," he said, closing his eyes and aiming his wand. A few moments passed and a small vile smacked into his palm.

Hermione gasped. "Draco, you're not going to make me take that, are you?"

"No," Draco answered. "_I'm _going to take it. I want you to ask me the same question that you did in France."

He looked slightly ill, as if he was afraid of the answer.

_Do you hate me?_

"Are you sure you want to–" she started, but he nodded emphatically, though she could tell he wanted to take it back. Draco unscrewed the cap, looked at the liquid, and gulped it down.

He looked at Hermione. "Ask me," he said softly.

She bit her lip hesitantly and shook her head. She too was afraid of the answer. He grabbed her wrist. "Do it," he said firmly.

She took a deep breath. "Do you hate me?"

"Yes," he answered immediately, and she felt her heart crack inside of her chest. "I absolutely despise you. I despise the fact that . . . you can dance the cha-cha just as well as me. I hate the way you sometimes bite your lip when you think I'm not looking. I hate it that I can't resist kissing you, that I can't keep my eyes off of you even though you're a Mudblood. I hate it that you're always right, that you never lie . . . I _hate _you for trusting me." He talked quickly now, as if he couldn't stop himself. "I hate the way your hair always smells, like oranges and cream . . . and I hate you for being so pretty . . . God, I _hate _you for being pretty!" His voice was raw and uncontrolled. "I hate it that you're a Gryffindor, I hate it that you like Krum more than you like me . . . yes, Granger, I'd say that hate is an understatement."

Hermione realized that she was crying.

He would hate her no matter how much she liked him. Draco looked horrified, but he couldn't stop talking. "And you know what the worst part of all is? I hate you almost as much as I like you. Because I really like you, Granger. Maybe I love you, I don't know."

There was absolute silence as they stared at each another, shocked.

With a half groan and a half roar, Draco pulled out his wand and performed a cleansing spell on himself. Gasping, he leaned heavily against the bedframe, as if some mortal wound ailed him.

"Draco, it's not–"

"Get out of here," he said sharply.

"No."

His head flew up and he took a hold of her shoulders. She met his eyes warily and he gazed back with a viciousness she hadn't seen in a long time.

This had gone too far.

He shook her like a rag doll as he yelled, "Now you listen here, Hermione Granger, I don't– I can't–"

He seemed to have a hard time getting the words out.

"I can't take care of you, I can't be with you, I can't _stand _you . . .!"

But he couldn't resist her lips, not for one second longer, and he bent down to kiss her. At first she resisted, but then she went limp in his arms and clutched onto his shirt like she never wanted to let go.

They never got to the kiss.

He paused, lips only inches from hers, and let go of her, hands shaking.

"I'm serious, Granger," he cried, voice rising dangerously. He stood up. "Get out of here!"

Every muscle in his body looked taut, deadly.

Did it really upset him this much that he loved her? Hermione suddenly felt hurt and angry. She raised a hand to smack some sense into him, but he grabbed her wrist as it came within two inches of her face.

He stood there shaking, silver eyes burning with hatred and anger. In that moment, she was afraid of him for the first time. She had never _fully _been afraid of him until that moment.

Coming to a precarious decision, Draco wrenched her to the portrait hole and opened it, pushing her out lightly. Then he slammed the door in her face.

* * *

Draco sank down against the closed portrait hole. 

"No, no, _no_," he whispered viciously, "it can't be right!"

_She's just a pawn to you! _a voice cried in his head. _You don't love her! You **can't** love her!_

But Draco was a liar. In Bulgaria he had found excuses to be alone with her. In the church that day so long ago, he had questioned everything he believed in for the first time. Why? Because of her.

He had tried to convince himself that he hated Krum only because of the boat trip, but the real reason he hated Krum was because Hermione liked him and smiled at him and trusted him. The great Draco Malfoy was jealous of some Bulgarian moron.

In France he had belittled and insulted her in order to make up for the fact that he had led her into the ballroom, danced with her, had been civil to her.

The True Kiss? He had attributed that to the amount of magic in the air, nothing more. He told himself he had only kissed her that time to punish her, to 'do something awful.'

As things became more intimate between them, he had a hard time making excuses to himself about why he thought of Hermione and wanted to see her. So he had come up with this 'Cunning Plan,' this genius idea to trap Potter. It didn't matter if he was nice, if he was civil, because it was all part of the plan. It didn't matter if he treated her kindly, if he treated her right, none of it was real.

It had all been real. The Veritaserum had shown him that. Why had he taken the Veritaserum? Because he was out of lies to tell himself. Because he didn't know the truth about his feelings for her. The charade had gone too far and he had wanted to make sure he didn't feel anything real.

He had convinced himself so fully that his relationship with Hermione was a lie.

The truth had smashed into him like an oncoming train, like the light at the end of the tunnel but so much brighter.

_Mudblood._

_Gryffindor. _

_Traitor!_

"Agh!" he clutched his head painfully. What _was _real? Was everything in his life just a lie?

He loved her. How long had he loved the girl? Since he had offered her his coat in Bulgaria? Danced with her in France? Kissed her under the evening lilies in the forest?

Did it even matter? He loved her and she knew it. He had overreacted and lashed out at Hermione because that was what people did when their lives shattered to pieces. He hadn't been able to deal with her right then.

_To love her, _he thought, _is to go against everything I've ever believed, ever strived for, ever been told. _

And he didn't even care. That was the worst part.

He didn't know what love was, really. All he knew was that he wanted her with a violence that couldn't be equaled.

He had not lost his ideals, he had not become a softhearted Gryffindor, and he had most certainly not transformed into a Muggle-lover.

Draco still hated Muggles. His beliefs had not been budged an inch. He hadn't even stopped hating Hermione Granger.

It was just that he loved her.

_Hah._

There was irony somewhere in that, he was just too tired and confused to see it at the moment.

_So what do I do? _he thought. _How do I live with this? Can I love Hermione and live the life I've always wanted?_

_Is there somewhere in between? _

((**A.N. **Next chapter, Ginny and Harry finally have an actual conversation, and Ron reappears. Also, Ernie makes a discovery linked to the murder. So how's the story coming? Any thoughts? I know you all have some... :D))


	25. Germans and Ginny

((**A.N. **Chapter 25, finally here. Hm... not really very Draco/Hermione-ish, but oh well, there's always next chapter right? Hope you guys enjoy!))

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**PART III: SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN**

_Maybe** redemption **has stories to tell_

_Maybe **forgiveness** is right where you fell_

_Where can you run to escape from **yourself**?_

_Salvation is here . . ._

--_Switchfoot_

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**Chapter 25**; Germans and Ginny 

"Ladies and gentlemen," came Dumbledore's booming voice the next morning. "I am pleased and excited to announce that we will be holding a Farewell Ball tomorrow night in order to bid our Ambassadors farewell. Fourth through seventh years are all invited, and the thirteen Ambassadors will be our guests of honor."

There was a cheer from the students, and the hall dissolved into chatter.

"'Ogwarts," Fleur told Michael lightly, "what a quaint place to 'ave a ball!"

"Attire is formal," Dumbledore continued once they had quieted somewhat. "And the Ambassadors will open the Ball with a waltz."

Some of the girls glared enviously at Hermione and Ginny.

"Zey really should have included dance skill in za requirements," Ivan said to Hilda, shaking his head. He, like Harry, was not a skilled dancer.

Dumbledore took a seat in his usual chair.

Sighing, he wondered if the Ball would be enough to divert the students from their scheming. With the Malfoy boy involved, he highly doubted it, but it was the best he could do for now.

Tomorrow night would be interesting, to say the least. Dumbledore would have to be ready.

* * *

Ginny rushed down the stairs of the girl's dormitory, a million worries flashing through her mind. She finished buttoning her cardigan haphazardly and smoothed her hair. She'd made it halfway to the portrait hole when a voice halted her in her tracks. 

"Wait, Gin."

There was only one person who called her Gin. She closed her eyes. He was the very last person she wanted to deal with.

Ginny turned around slowly to find Harry looking at her, a small smile on his face.

"Sit down for a second."

"I'd love to, Harry, but I've got to see McGonagall and after that I'm supposed to–"

"I don't care," Harry cut her off, his voice gentle. "Just talk to me for a minute."

Ginny quelled her bubbling frustration at him and took a seat on the couch stiffly. For some reason she didn't want to look into his eyes, so she fixed her gaze on the fireplace.

The couch was too small, and their knees were bumping.

"What have you been up to?" Harry asked her casually.

Oh, great. Now he wanted to have a perfectly unremarkable conversation with her. He wanted to pretend that the tension between them wasn't like an electric wire on the verge of snapping.

Harry was too close . . . why was he so close? She turned to face him so she didn't have to practically lean against him.

"It's . . . I'm fine. How about you, Harry?" she said as lightly as possible.

Harry paused. "It's been the usual for me. Trying to figure out how to defeat the murderer of my parents, avoid the paparazzi, and maintain a social life all at the same time." There was no mirth in his smile, and he didn't miss Ginny's flinch.

There were a few moments of strained silence. No longer able to bear it, Ginny spoke.

"Have you heard about Charlie's latest girlfriend?" she said quickly, trying for lightness and failing. "It's quite funny, actually. You know how Charlie is, and, well, he's got this perfectly prim and proper girlfriend! Let me tell you about–"

"Hey Gin?"

"What?"

"Shut up," he said in an amused tone, smiling softly.

She did.

After a few moments Harry offered, "That's much better. Now I have reason to believe that you've been avoiding your brother."

"Ron's avoiding everyone," Ginny said with a frown. "There's something wrong with him."

"Then you've been avoiding me," said Harry coolly, trying and failing to catch her gaze.

Why did he have to watch her so closely?

Ginny took a deep breath. "I've been really busy, Harry . . . I'm sorry, it's just that I have a boyfriend right now and . . ."

She trailed off. That sounded awful even to her own ears.

"That doesn't matter," Harry said softly, looking at his hands. "You try to act like just because you have a boyfriend you can't talk to me." His face creased into a frown. "I'm not trying to come onto you, Gin," he told her, spreading his hands wide. "Your boyfriend is just a flimsy excuse not to talk to me and you know that just as well as I do."

There was enough truth in what he said for it to sting. Suddenly she wanted to hurt him. Maybe she had to; it was hard to tell at that point.

"I know you're used to girls falling at your feet," Ginny said sharply, "and I know it's hard for you to understand that I _like _my boyfriend, but I do. A lot. You're acting arrogant and self-centered."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"That's a little harsh, Gin."

Anger, she could have dealt with. This cool, calculating demeanor of his unnerved her. But when she thought back, she realized that he had never once gotten angry at her.

"I know," she said after a minute. "Sorry."

"I'm not upset," Harry said with a smile. He reached out and tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. She would have taken it as something romantic, but the gesture had been so matter of fact that it seemed only friendly.

"It was nice talking to you," he said easily. "Maybe we can do it again sometime in the next few months."

She laughed genuinely at that joke, but stood up quickly.

"I'll see you around, Harry," she said softly, and turned around before he could see the remorse on her face.

Harry stared after her. Finally, he got up and left.

* * *

FACT: _"Here lies the once and future King." This was the message inscribed on King Arthur's grave. Many people take this to mean that King Arthur will someday have a descendent or successor who will reunite Britain. _

"Voldemort is looking for Mordred's sword," Lupin told Dumbledore, pacing nervously in the Headmaster's study.

"And the sword is buried at Stonehenge, you say," Dumbledore repeated.

Lupin nodded, and stopped pacing for a moment. "Now only one question remains. How do we get the sword from Stonehenge? And why has no one ever found Slytherin's body?"

"Two equally confounding questions," Dumbledore answered softly, "but I have been doing some research myself."

The old man smiled mischievously from behind the safe cover of his half-moon glasses.

"Oh?" Lupin asked, sounding grateful.

"Obviously you're familiar with the tale of The Sword and the Stone."

"Of course. Excalibur was lodged into a stone, and it was riddled that only the future King of Britain would be able to lift it from the stone. Young King Arthur did so, and hence was crowned King."

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, absentmindedly tidying his desk, "and I have reason to believe that Mordred's sword had quite the same enchantment placed on it at the time of his death."

"What?" Lupin asked immediately. "You're saying that only the future King of Britain could remove the sword from Stonehenge?"

"_The bane of the Once and Future King," _Dumbledore repeated. "That was what the centaur said in the prophecy. Obviously King Arthur plays a much larger part in this than we have believed."

"Albus," said Lupin shortly, "you have the vexing and unbreakable habit of speaking in riddles. What is your point?"

"Mordred conceived a daughter, you know," Dumbledore told Lupin amiably, "before he died."

"And?"

"And I want you to piece it together for yourself, Remus. Mordred is Slytherin. Mordred had an heir. Mordred left the sword at his burial site. Mordred obviously wanted someone . . . but not just anyone, to wield the sword."

"Oh, no," Lupin said, catching Dumbledore's drift.

"I'm afraid so."

"An heir," Lupin repeated soundly. "There is an heir of Mordred's lying around somewhere, isn't there? And the heir is the only one who can pull Mordred's sword from the stone. It's like King Arthur all over again, except all twisted up."

"Our situation has striking parallels to that of the tale of King Arthur."

"But the heir!" Lupin cried. "Who is the heir? Who is descended from Mordred? From Slytherin?"

"Voldemort," Dumbledore said at once.

"But if Voldemort himself is the heir," Lupin mused confusedly, "then why hasn't he gone to Stonehenge and removed the sword?"

"That is the only reason I have rejected Voldemort as the heir that Mordred spoke of. If he was the heir, he would have long ago removed the sword. You must also remember, Remus, that the heir of Mordred is also the heir of King Arthur."

"So who else could it be?"

"Harry Potter."

"_What?_"

"You can't tell me you honestly don't see obvious parallels between Harry and Arthur. The Once and Future King, Remus. Do you know how many prophecies have been written about the boy? Harry is destined to be King. My theory is that Voldemort will try to lure Harry to Stonehenge, in order to make him remove the sword. Once Harry has removed the sword, Voldemort will seize it and gain almost unimaginable power."

"Voldemort must think Harry is King Arthur reborn," Lupin said faintly.

"Indeed, I believe he does," Dumbledore replied.

"Well, what are we going to do?"

"We're going to wait, Remus, because I've got one more revelation up my sleeve that will ruin every single one of Voldemort's plans."

"It will?"

"That, or it will ensure their success so completely that there is absolutely nothing we can do."

Sometimes he hated Dumbledore.

* * *

Harry traipsed slowly up to his dormitory. All of the free time they had been given lately on account of the Ambassadors had been nice, of course. 

It had also given him time to think. This was far from a good thing.

It had given him time to think about why Ginny hated him. It had given him time to think about Draco and Hermione. It had given him time to think about Voldemort, and fighting, and the final battle.

Thinking was a dangerous thing for Harry. More often than not it made him sick to his stomach.

He paused with his hand on the doorknob. It seemed that Hermione was never around anymore. Despite her promise to remain friends with him, he saw the way her brown eyes searched only for Draco when she entered the Great Hall, and the way she nodded absently as he talked to her, as if only half listening.

She didn't mean to pay less attention to him. He knew that with more certainty than anything else. This knowledge only made him feel worse.

When he opened the door, he strode over to his four poster bed and paused. At first the room had seemed empty; on closer inspection, Ron Weasley sat curled up on his bunk. His expression was sullen. He seemed, in fact, to look right _through _Harry.

"Ron?" he asked tentatively.

The boy started, as if he had just noticed Harry. "Oh. Hello, Harry," he said stiffly.

Harry sat down on his own bunk and regarded Ron carefully. He had been acting strange. "Your sister won't talk to me," Harry told Ron blankly. "I think she hates me."

Ron shrugged slightly and took a moment before answering. "Don't ask me. I don't get her. She's been acting odd lately, you know?"

Harry frowned. "She said exactly the same thing about you."

He couldn't see Ron's expression in the dodgy light filtering through the curtains.

"I've been thinking," Harry continued, "about Voldemort, you know, and facing him. I don't feel right about it. I feel like there's something I don't know . . . it's just a feeling, but I don't think I'm prepared."

Harry noticed that Ron's body had tensed. "Oh," the red-haired said simply.

"I'm just starting to wonder if . . ."

"Harry," Ron interrupted softly, "I'm not the best person to talk to about this. I know next to nothing about . . . you know . . ."

Harry froze in mid-movement. "What?"

"I mean . . ." Ron wouldn't meet Harry's eyes as he spoke, "I can't handle thinking about death and You-Know-Who and fighting like you can. You're not going to get any good advice from me."

The emerald-eyed boy was silent for almost a full minute before he spoke. When he did, he had a hard time keeping the hurt and confusion out of his voice. "Ron, you're my best mate . . . who _else_ would I talk to?"

"Hermione," Ron said at once. "She's much cleverer than me . . . she'd be able to help you."

"I . . ." the words caught in Harry's throat. "I don't _want _to talk to Hermione. What's wrong with you, Ron? Sometimes there are things you can understand better than Hermione. Sometimes I can't talk to her like I can with you."

_Besides, _Harry thought, _all I want you to do is **listen.**_

Ron shifted off of the bed and stood up. "I just remembered that I have detention with Filch. I'll talk to you later, Harry."

Harry didn't even bother saying goodbye. He sat shock still on his bed. This had never happened before. His friends had always been right there behind him in the battle with Voldemort. Now it seemed like no one wanted to talk to him about it or anything else.

He shivered in the half darkness and let out a slow, concentrated breath.

* * *

Ernie mused that the Ambassadors were doing quite well at adapting to Hogwarts. Yes, some of them had fallen off of the trick staircases, and others had almost gotten smacked by the Whomping Willow, but ultimately they were unharmed. That was the important thing. 

A conversation he had overheard recently disturbed him. Ivan and Hilda had been loitering in an empty corridor, their voices suspiciously low. Ernie had been walking to the Hufflepuff common room. He had ducked around a corner, curious about their motives in relation to the murder.

"Vhat did za mafia tell you?" Hilda had asked Ivan.

"They told me that za German spy is one of za Ambassadors, how many times have I told you?" Ivan questioned angrily. "You are supposed to be helping me out!"

"I gave you my suspects," Hilda persisted. "Draco and Jaime. Jaime's French pride is just an act, I tell you!"

"You thought it vas Myra, and look where we are now!" Ivan hissed angrily.

"I'm confused . . ." Hilda started.

Ernie's face paled and he walked away quickly at that point. From what he had heard, there was some kind of German spy amongst the Ambassadors. Ivan and Hilda were looking for this person at the orders of some 'mafia.'

_Everyone is so sure it's Krum! _Ernie thought wildly. Krum had even been taken into custody for questioning. But it seemed that those two were mixed up with the Bulgarian Mafia.

They _had _to be the murderers. Were they perhaps trying to kill the spy? From what Ernie had heard, it seemed that hadn't done it yet. But who was the spy?

It supplied every answer to the crime. The suspects, the alibis, and the motive.

The Ball was tomorrow night, and he decided to bide his time until the Ambassadors left. It would be easier to turn them into Dumbledore while they were all on the train the following morning, trapped in one place. He would tell Dumbledore after the ball, and when the Bulgarians arrived home, they would be intercepted immediately by government officials. It was easier this way. Less dangerous.

Besides, it wasn't as if they were going to try anything with the heightened security measures at Hogwarts.

Ernie would soon realize that he had too much faith in Hogwarts.

((**A.N. **Next chapter: Finally a mention of Draco and Hermione, I seem to have ignored them this time around... review please! ))


	26. Telltale truths

((**A.N. **So, Chapter 26. I appreciate all of your support, hope you enjoy!))

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**PART III: SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN**

_**Love** is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not promises of eternal passion, it is not the desire to mate every second minute of the day . . . No, don't blush. I am telling you some truths. That is just being "in love," which any fool can do. **Love itself **is what is left over when being in love has burned away…Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossoms had fallen from the branches, we found that we were** one** tree and not two._

– _De Bernieres, from the novel Corelli's Mandolin_

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**Chapter 26;** Telltale Truths

Twilight was like a pendulum, swinging back and forth between bidding the sun farewell and beckoning to the night.

Hermione finished her Charms homework with an agitated flourish of her quill. Technically, they'd been exempted from classes for the past three weeks, but she felt so behind that she had seen the teacher for extra homework.

Or maybe she just wanted something else to think about.

Her mind was a jumble of mush. She swung dangerously (like the pendulum) between hating Draco passionately and marveling at the fact that he . . . what? _Loved _her?

That sounded so twisted.

It couldn't be true.

_Perhaps the Veritaserum he took wasn't real, _Hermione thought for the fifth time that day. However, Draco's reaction to hearing the words come out of his own mouth had convinced her otherwise. He had acted as if she had hurt him physically and practically shoved her out of his room.

The gall that boy had! To yell at her and throw her out of his room like a rag doll . . . did he really think he would get away with treating her like that?

She couldn't stop thinking about him. Hermione seldom had a hard time concentrating on her homework, but this was one of those times.

She hated him sometimes.

A lot of the time.

There sounded a at the portrait hole, followed by, "Granger?"

It was Draco's voice. She buried her head in her hands. Why did he always have to show up and ruin everything? Just the sound of his voice made her stomach do unnatural flippy things. She held onto what was left of her resolve and did not answer the door.

She wouldn't forgive him that easily.

The knocking heightened to a pounding. "Granger, c'mon! I know you're in there!"

She shoved her fingers into her ears and bit her lip.

"Hermione Granger, open the sodding door this instant." His voice went quiet. Deadly.

A last chance sort of voice.

She shook her head and debated between dead bolting the door with an extra spell or flinging it open.

There was a moment of silence, and then a sigh.

Then there was dead silence.

_He's gone, _she thought with relief. And after relief came an unexpected wave of overwhelming depression.

Suddenly, the portrait hole crashed open, and Draco stood in the doorway, hands on his hips. He looked casually angry, elegantly pissed off, and just as beautifully malicious as ever. Hermione stood up, bristling immediately and narrowing her eyes.

"I know your password," he said, raising an eyebrow, "but I didn't think you'd appreciate me breaking in."

"Well . . . you didn't seem to mind throwing me out of _your _room yesterday," Hermione retorted acidly.

He didn't grace that statement with an answer, just leaned against the side of the door, cool and unruffled as ever.

She hated that there was no trace that he loved her on his face. He could have been reading an Arithmancy book for all of the emotion in his features, and that made her terribly uncertain.

He looked stunning in a stark white buttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled up almost to the elbows, and obviously expensive black slacks. He had changed out of his school robes, and she wondered if he had done it intentionally.

Newly washed hair gleamed in the twilight, and eyes the color of fresh unicorn blood focused on her own unremarkable ones.

She was drooling.

That wouldn't do at all.

"What do you want?" she asked in a no-nonsense sort of voice.

"I want you to come with me," Draco told her, holding out his hand like a battered white flag.

"Okay," Hermione said lightly, and turned her back on him. She walked toward her bedroom. She would give him exactly what he didn't want.

She felt a hand on her wrist, and jumped in surprise. He had crossed the room in less than two seconds.

He whirled her to face him. "Actually, you have to come with me," he told her bluntly. "I'll drag you out of here if I have to. That's right, Granger, you're not in control this time. Live with it."

They stared each other down, each too stubborn to move.

"I'm mad at you." That sounded so much more immature than she had meant it to. The words sounded weak, half real.

"Can't you see I'm sorry?" Draco said it directly but quietly, almost as if he didn't want to admit it.

Why was it so hard to say 'no' to him? He dropped her wrist.

"Fine," Hermione answered stiffly. "You have five minutes of my time."

"Well, excuse me," Draco sneered scathingly. "I wasn't aware that this was a business transaction."

"You just don't quit, do you?" Hermione asked, in disbelief about his attitude. "Stop pushing your luck."

Draco's mouth curved up into an amused smirk. "Have I ever told you that you look pretty when you're pissed off?"

Hermione's eyes flared, and she turned to him, hands on her hips. "You don't take me seriously, do you?"

"Yes, I do," Draco assured her, trying hard to mask his amusement.

She merely rolled her eyes.

They walked outside and Hermione almost told him that she didn't think it was a good idea that they be seen together. There was an unspoken law that in public they could not touch each other. If someone asked what they were doing, two words would suffice: Head business.

Hermione didn't know where they were going. This bothered her.

Draco surprised her by laughing softly as they walked. It sounded genuine, but she couldn't be sure.

"What?" she asked suspiciously, narrowing her eyes.

"It's just funny," Draco told her slowly, "this whole tough girl act you have."

Hermione bristled immediately. "Excuse me!"

"C'mon, Granger," he chastised softly, raising his eyebrows.

"Tough girl act?" she questioned, heart pounding disloyally.

"I mean, I _know _you care about me. Potter sees it, I see it, and you've even told me yourself. So why do you go on acting like you hate me, like I'm something on the bottom of your shoe?"

His tone was gentle and prodding. She had never heard him use that voice.

"You're so full of yourself," she retorted angrily.

"I notice you don't deny it," Draco answered coolly.

"That I like you?" Hermione asked.

Draco nodded, but didn't say anything more.

"Just because other girls turn to mush in your arms doesn't mean I'm the same."

"You're not the same. At all. But you like me even if you don't want to admit it."

Hermione stopped walking and looked at him. "The word _hypocrite_ applies to you in so many more ways than one. You just drank a truth potion and said that you loved me and now you're acting like someone reading an Arithmancy book. There's no emotion on your face at all. C'mon, Draco," she sneered sarcastically, in the chiding way he had said it to her, "I know you love me and you know you love me, so why do we keep on playing this little game?"

Draco turned to face her in the empty hallway, a smile playing at his lips.

"We need to make a truce, then. I like you, okay? I really do. I'm not going to say I love you because I can't be sure, but I like you. So now I've said it, and you can't call me a hypocrite."

Despite the nerveless manner in which he delivered his little speech, he toyed nervously with the collar of his shirt.

"Well, I like you too," Hermione said quickly. "So there."

He only smiled more. "Meaning that you're starry-eyed, dry-mouthed, heart poundingly, over-the-moon, madly in love with me and you're just too proud to admit it because you're Hermione Granger," Draco translated for her.

"If there was an award for Most Arrogant Prick Ever, you would win it hands down," Hermione laughed. Then, more quietly, "But yeah, that sounds about right."

Surprised, he looked up at her. She had never seen him so down to earth and sincere about something. It just wasn't like Draco. At least, not like the Draco she knew. She had to remind herself that she knew very little about him.

God, sometimes the boy had mood swings. Was he bipolar?

"So what now?" Hermione asked, planting her hands on her hips.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Must we always _do _something, Granger? Let's just sit here," he replied steadily.

"Here? In this corridor?"

"Yeah."

"But what if people . . . ?"

"Do you care?"

It was what she had been waiting to hear. So they sat down side by side, not touching, and silence descended upon them like a blessed veil.

Being in his presence, knowing he was sitting next to her, gave her goose bumps and chills. She was happier than she had been in days. She didn't even have to touch him to love it.

That had to be unhealthy in at least one way.

She had fallen for him, hard. _I'd be a fool not to admit that to myself, _Hermione thought grudgingly.

_Oh well._

Then Hermione looked into Draco's eyes and saw so much more than grey.

She saw, like grey, something in between black and white, something between perfection and tragedy, between boundless hope and utmost despair, something shockingly real.

Draco wasn't an angel, fallen from such great heights, nor was he a demon. He was a human, wedged precariously somewhere in between. He was probably one of the most human individuals she had ever known, with his flaws and perfections and complexities.

He swung, like the pendulum, between black and white.

He would never be a Prince Charming, he would never be a ruthless Death Eater. He would be human and unremarkable and flawed.

That was all.

She felt him put his hand over hers, felt him lace his fingers through her own.

Why had words become so superfluous?

_I never hold hand with girls in corridors . . ._ she distinctly remembered Draco telling her.

Maybe they wouldn't have to get up. Maybe they could find a way to stay like this forever. Maybe everything would be okay, somehow.

Maybe it didn't have to be.

((**A.N. **So finally these two knuckleheads seem to be getting somewhere. Sheesh, it only took 26 chapters. Please give me a review; I like it a bunch.))


	27. Extraordinarily Excessive Engagements

((**A.N.** Chapter 27. Thanks you SO much reviewers, I love all your feedback. Enjoy!))

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**PART III: SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN**

_You are the pause before the crescendo, and the smell before the rain_

_You are the tragic rhapsody, the joyful elegy,_

_You are my **somewhere in between.**_

– _Anonymous _

* * *

**Chapter 27; **Extraordinarily Excessive Engagements 

The morning of the ball had dawned cold but clear.

"Ambassadors," came the booming voice of McGonagall. "All Ambassadors, report to the front of the Great Hall!"

Getting up slowly from his seat, Draco swaggered across the hall. Hermione rolled her eyes emphatically.

"Today," McGonagall announced to the thirteen students around her, "the Hogwarts Ambassadors will be giving you a tour of the grounds, and you'll have lunch at the lake."

"I have heard zer is a giant squid in za lake," Ivan said as they exited the castle. "Is this true?"

The French Ambassadors shivered in the cutting morning sunlight and pulled their cloaks tighter around themselves. The Bulgarians seemed completely unaffected. Krum brooded in silence a distance away from the rest of the group. No one knew how his questioning session with the Ministry had gone; word had it that he was going to be convicted shortly.

"Yeah, actually," Harry said in a one hundred percent serious voice, "maybe we'll throw Malfoy in to demonstrate its superior mauling skills."

Draco made a soft hissing noise, and Harry assumed that it was in response to his comment. "That's right, Malfoy, if you're not going to shake my hand then I'm not going–"

"Shut the hell up, Potter," Draco said through gritted teeth. "Just shut the_ hell _up." Harry rolled his eyes.

"This is our gamekeeper's cabin," Hermione told the Ambassadors, a few minutes later, as they passed the large and homey logged cabin.

Fleur perked up. "'is name eez Hagrid, eez it not? Madame Maxime is quite familiar with 'im, I believe."

"Wouldn't surprise me," Harry muttered under his breath.

After the tour, they conjured up a blanket and sat near the lake. Draco spoke up, and his voice sounded hoarse.

"I have to go. I want to sit in on Potions . . ." He got up and strode toward the castle.

* * *

Once he had gotten out of sight of the others, Draco broke into a run. His arm fired up, and he hissed in pain. Luckily Potter had assumed that his hiss from earlier had been a reaction to his insult (self-centered as usual), and he had gotten away without attracting much suspicion. 

He made his way quickly to his room, cursing whoever had ignited his arm. Slamming his hand down on the opal pendant, Draco felt himself flying away from Hogwarts. He landed on the Manor floor; the burning stopped instantly.

Why had Lord Voldemort called a meeting in the middle of the day? That didn't make any sense.

"Draco?" came a familiar voice. A female voice.

He turned around dazedly, more confused than he had previously been.

"Pansy? What are you doing in my house?" Draco asked bluntly.

"I don't know . . . I got called here by your father, actually," Pansy replied.

She had grown a lot since fourteen. Her straight blonde hair was tied back into a sleek ponytail, and her famous "pug-nose" had leveled out to match the rest of her face. Light blue eyes, small lips, and rosy skin gave her an almost-pretty look. There was nothing remarkable about her face (her features were far from the exquisite ones of Fleur and Myra), but due to the sleek, blonde hair, people often mistook her for beautiful.

Draco had known her since he was ten, and they had dated on and off. He knew her well, but as was expected, Pansy never let him get too close. He had slept with her, of course, but she still remained slightly illusive and cold. That was simply Pansy Parkinson: calculating, scathing, and enigmatic. She often reminded Draco of himself, and he liked her better for being standoffish. It was the Slytherin way.

"Ah, Draco. Pansy. You've arrived," came a voice from the pavilion doorway. Pansy's father, Rodile Parkinson, strode out to meet them. "We were having tea with Lucius. We wanted to have a word with both of you. Please come inside."

As Draco entered the pavilion, his brow creased into a curious frown. He had an idea of what was about to happen, and wasn't at all sure he liked it.

He met his father's eyes for a brief moment, and was reminded of their last encounter. The bladed ring glinted on Lucius's finger.

Didn't his father realize that Draco was taller than him now? He was surprised his father had the nerve to hit him; at seventeen, the younger Malfoy could hit back just as hard.

The sad thing was that Draco had never even considered it.

"Draco. Miss Parkinson. Have a seat," Lucius said expansively. They sat side by side on a small couch. Draco noticed that his own mother and Mrs. Parkinson were present as well.

Pleasantries were exchanged and small talk was made. Draco was charming as usual, and Mrs. Parkinson seemed delighted by him.

Pansy seemed talkative in the firm way she had, but Draco could tell she was also preoccupied. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

"Well . . ." said Rodile after a while, "we have an announcement for the two of you."

"Yes?" Pansy asked, a little bit too abruptly.

"The four of us have discussed it, and we have decided that you two are to be betrothed."

Draco did not make a move on the couch, but he watched Pansy's hand whiten on the armrest. He had to give her credit, though; her face didn't change in the least. She was a good Slytherin.

"As is the custom," came his mother's voice through the fog that had descended around him, "either one of you can decline to be married."

This notion of declining a marriage proposition was nothing more than a hollow tradition. Both of them knew that if they declined, they would be ostracized, maybe disowned. Their lives would be systematically destroyed by their parents, who used them as chess pieces in a complicated game of chess, of Pureblood families vying for power.

"Pansy Anise Parkinson, do you accept the betrothal hereby proposed?" Rodile put forth.

There was a brief and somewhat strained pause.

"I accept," said Pansy, after a moment. Her eyes did not betray her.

"Draco Alexander Malfoy, do you accept the betrothal hereby proposed?" Lucius asked. His eyes were boring into Draco's, daring him to contradict his father's wishes.

He met his father's gaze squarely and defiantly. He felt Lucius's surprise more than he saw it. Next Draco fixed his gaze on Pansy.

"I accept," he said clearly, but as the words left his mouth, Pansy's face was replaced with an agonizing image of a brown-eyed girl. In his mind he saw her laughing in the snow, he saw her sweeping across a ballroom in an evening gown, he saw the curve of her body through clothes drenched in fresh rainwater.

"It's settled, then," said Lucius with a clap of his hands. "Your wedding date is planned for May."

"I'm so happy for you both," gushed Mrs. Parkinson. "This wedding will be the talk of high society, the biggest social event of the year. We won't announce the engagement until January, however. We want to get everything arranged first."

After they had exchanged goodbyes (numbly, on Draco's part), he walked alone into the hall with Pansy.

He leaned against the wall and raked a hand through his hair.

"What are you thinking, Draco?" Pansy asked softly. She seemed stunned.

"I'm just in shock," he replied. "It's not a bad thing, I'm just in shock."

There was silence.

"Tell me what to do, Draco."

It struck him painfully as something Hermione would never say.

"I wouldn't say that to any boy but you," Pansy continued quickly, answering his thoughts. "Some guys are stupid or dull, but you . . . you're neither. I like you for that, if nothing else."

Draco finally found his voice. "You're one of the smartest girls I've ever known, Pansy. You shouldn't have to do what I say."

He knew one girl that was smarter.

They looked at one another steadily, and it was clear that she liked him in much the same way that he liked her. They were comrades, friends . . . they were not in love.

"I need you to tell me what to do," Pansy whispered, her voice more vulnerable than he had ever known, "because right now I'm not sure. I'm scared and confused . . . tell me what to do."

And suddenly he wasn't looking at pretty seventeen-year-old Pansy, who was strong and calculating and who he had kissed and gone farther with, he was looking at her as ten-year old Pansy, the one who he had known all his life as a friend and a companion. He saw ten-year-old Pansy, who was small and vulnerable and looked like she was about to cry.

He crossed the hall and wrapped her in a tight embrace, resting his chin on top of her head. She was a mere pawn to her parents, as was he to his, and in that moment, Draco pitied both her and himself. No one watched out for them; it was a cruel lesson Slytherins learned early on in life. You looked out for yourself, because no one would do it for you. Softly, he answered her request.

"Maybe we just get through it. Maybe that's all we can do."

* * *

Hermione half smiled as she curled up in the Gryffindor common room to squeeze in some quality reading time before the Ball began. The girls in her dorm were positively neurotic due to the upcoming festivities, and it was only four thirty in the afternoon. She had come downstairs to get some peace. 

She wanted to look good for the ball(now more than ever, because of a certain Slytherin), but it wasn't as if she was going to start preparing three hours in advance.

Hermione had just cracked open her book when she heard light footsteps on the stairs behind her. She turned her head slightly and glimpsed Ginny heading toward the portrait hole, hooded and cloaked.

"Going out?" Hermione asked, a slight frown creasing her features. Ginny turned quickly; she had been unaware that someone else was in the common room. Slanted shadows obscured her expression as she opened her mouth.

"I've got extra Herbology lessons with Professor Sprout," Ginny told Hermione, voice blank.

"Funny," Hermione remarked casually, and closed her book completely, "Ron told me you were ace at Herbology. And why are you dressed in a cloak?"

"If you haven't noticed," replied Ginny, with a slightly patient smile, "it's November, Hermione, and it's a bit chilly outside. I _used _to be ace at Herbology, but this year there have just been so many distractions, and . . . well, I'm afraid I received a 'D' on my last essay."

She looked slightly abashed as she said this, talking as she was to the girl who had never received less than an 'E' on anything.

"I've got to go," Ginny said finally, glancing at her wristwatch. "I'm already late as it is. See you at the Ball tonight!"

"Right," Hermione replied finally, but the girl had rushed out the door without waiting for her answer. Hermione's eyebrows knitted together as she turned back to her book. Somehow, she found that she didn't feel much like reading anymore.

* * *

After saying goodbye to Pansy, Draco made his way to the pavilion, which stood empty now save his father. 

"I am glad you are getting married," Lucius told him, and for a moment Draco didn't believe his ears. "The wedding will be a top notch opportunity to sway more people to our favor. More power to our name is my number one priority."

Something cold lanced through Draco's chest. He pushed it away, as he always had. He knew Lucius had always valued political power over his own son, but when his father spelled it out like that, clear as ink on paper, it hurt him somehow.

"Well, I'm glad it's such a big opportunity for you," Draco muttered, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "What is this plan you've been talking about?"

Anything to change the subject.

Lucius cleared his throat.

"I meant to tell you before this, but Our Lord did not confirm the date until this morning."

"Date for what?"

"The one for luring Potter out of Hogwarts."

Something weird happened to his stomach. _It's probably anticipation, _Draco assured himself quickly.

"So when is it?"

"Tonight," Lucius said simply. Draco's eyebrows shot up into his hair.

"But father, tonight's that huge ball for the Ambassadors at Hogwarts. We're supposed to open the ball and if I'm not there . . . or Potter, for that matter, people will get suspicious."

Lucius considered for a moment.

"Go to the dratted ball and open it with a dance, stay for thirty minutes and then leave discreetly with Potter. Ron Weasley may ask to come along. Allow him to do so, if you must. All you have to do is get Potter off of the school grounds and into the Forbidden Forest. You see, we're transporting you by Portkey, but ever since the Triwizard Tournament, there have been wards on the Hogwarts grounds that protect against malignant Portkeys. In the Forbidden Forest, a Portkey shaped like an eight petalled glowing blue flower will be waiting for you. Grab Potter and transport yourselves to the final destination."

"Which is?"

"Stonehenge."

"What!"

"Never mind the details, boy," Lucius said in a dismissive fashion. "The rest of us will take over from there. Your job is simply to get Potter out of Hogwarts quickly and quietly. Do not fail."

Draco nodded, his mind reeling. "Is this the end? I mean, is this Lord Voldemort's takeover?"

"Yes," Lucius said quietly. "Our lives will completely change. Now I want you to come with me, Draco. Our Lord is holding a most special meeting."

Draco checked his wristwatch and realized it was five o'clock already.

"But the Ball..."

"You'll have time to spare. Besides, I imagine you'll really like this."

Lucius stood up and placed a hand on Draco's shoulder. In moments, they had disappeared.

The sun began to set.

((**A.N. **Hm so things are really getting interesting now, aren't they? Next chapter is the ball and the revealing of at least one major twist! Review, please?))


	28. A Dance, A Decision, and A Deception

((**A.N. **Well, here's Chapter 28. Reviewers; thank you! You make my day! I hope you enjoy this... though I strongly suspect some of you won't...))

**

* * *

**

**PART III: SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN**

_I thought it would be nice to lie down and close my eyes_

_It never occurred to me_

_that I was **already asleep**._

_– Trapt_

* * *

**Chapter 28**; A Dance, a Decision, and a Deception 

Hermione heard a pounding at her door as she slipped her shoes on. The ball started in ten minutes and they had to be there for the first dance.

She opened the door and found Harry grinning back at her.

"Time to go, Head Girl," Harry told her seriously. "You're going to be late for the most important ball of the year if you spend any more time primping for Malfoy."

"Stop it!" Hermione ordered with a smile, blushing slightly.

Harry couldn't remember a time when he had seen his best friend so radiant.

"You _do _look good," Harry assured her more softly, taking in the magenta dress Draco had made for her, the elegant layers that fit her body so perfectly.

"Thanks," Hermione replied nervously. "Where are Ginny and Ron?" she closed the door to her room and followed him down the hall.

"Ron's still getting ready upstairs, he's coming down later," Harry told her, "and I don't have any idea where Ginny is."

The last part sounded distant and removed. "Is there something . . .?"

"Good evening, Harry, Hermione!" came an assured voice from behind them. It was Ernie Macmillan. "Quite a lovely evening for a Ball, if I do say so myself."

Annoyed at being cut off, Hermione merely smiled and walked faster.

They had almost reached the Great Hall when Ginny caught up with them, out of breath.

"I'm not late," she said, managing to look upset and relieved at the same time.

"Now all we need is Malfoy," Harry said, "but knowing Malfoy, he'll show up whenever he feels like it."

"I doubt he'll be arriving for a while," Ginny said offhandedly, apparently distracted. Hermione noticed she was also wearing the dress Draco had designed for her.

They entered the Great Hall to find it noticeably transformed. Instead of the usual four long tables, small crimson red ones were scattered around the hall. Soft armchairs and couches had replaced the benches, and Hermione's eyes searched for a certain blond-haired boy against her will.

She found him almost immediately, and Ginny's eyes widened in surprise. Why hadn't Ginny expected him to be there?

He was draped casually across one of the sofas, a glass of something elegant in his hand. Pansy Parkinson sat next to him, and his arm rested on the back of the couch just above her shoulders. She leaned against him, laughing at something he said. Slytherins sat around the table, facing him subtly. He was already a politician like his father, and looked as if he owned the entire world. His robes matched his eyes, a light gray shade somewhere exactly between black and white

When he saw Hermione enter, however, he turned to his companions and pointed rudely at the Gryffindor group, obviously saying something snide about them. Then he disengaged himself from Pansy–she kissed him on the cheek–and he strode over to Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and Ernie.

"I told them you had to be my dance partner for the opening waltz," he said to Hermione in an amused voice. He narrowed his eyes at her so that it looked like he was saying something cruel.

She was aware that the Slytherins still watched them.

"What's with Parkinson hanging all over you?" Hermione asked, putting disdain and anger into her look. Not all of it was contrived.

"You're wearing my dress," Draco answered evasively and cheerfully, making an effort not to smile. They continued "glaring" at one another until Dumbledore clapped for silence.

"Welcome, students and Ambassadors alike, to our Farewell Ball in honor of the students leaving us tomorrow. We would be pleased to have you open the ball with a customary waltz as our guests of honor. Pair up and step onto the floor, and we will begin."

Ginny, oddly enough, paired up with Ernie, and Harry decided to ignore this and pair up with Renae. The other Ambassadors promptly found partners and stepped onto the floor.

Draco's hand locked around her waist, and immediately Hermione felt that rush, that illusive surge of challenge in her blood.

"You asked about Pansy," he said grudgingly. "It's just that she's acting a little–"

"– bit like a sleaze?" Hermione finished for him. "Look at that dress."

"Predictable, I was going to say," Draco answered sharply, sidestepping the look she gave him. They whirled faster, and the only thing that wasn't a blur to Hermione was Draco's face.

"Predictable," Draco repeated. "Not like you. She's very pretty and rich, but I think that's the reason I don't like her."

"What reason?"

"She's not like you," the grey-eyed boy replied simply, as if it were obvious.

Hermione raised her eyebrows and tried to refrain from blushing the same shade as her gown. She wished her heart would slow down. The Slytherin group stood right at the edge of the dance floor, watching the pair.

Hermione felt keenly uncomfortable, and tried to steer them closer to the Gryffindor side.

"How many times have I told you not to lead, Miss Granger?" he said softly into her ear. He twirled her so sharply that had it been anyone with less skill, he would have ripped her arm off.

"But the–"

"I know," he said with a devilish smirk. "It looks like I'm trying to hurt you from over there."

_And maybe I am, _Draco mused thoughtfully.

"Are we going to have to keep this little facade up forever?" Hermione asked him softly. Something akin to pain flashed through his eyes.

"Not for too much longer," he said in an even voice.

She was unable to question him further about this because the song ended and Krum approached.

"Meet me outside the doors at ten," he whispered quickly, before turning to Krum, whose face was turning steadily more purple.

"May I dance vith you, Herm-i-oninny?" he asked, eyes flashing hatefully toward Draco.

Hermione paused for only a moment. _It isn't as if he's going to murder me on the dance floor, _she thought wryly.

"Yes," said Hermione, and took her hand off of Draco's arm in the least reluctant fashion she could manage.

"Have a nice time getting your feet stepped on," Draco yelled loudly at their retreating backs. Then, more softly, "Merlin knows it will probably be the most pleasant thing that happens to you tonight."

* * *

Hermione was waiting for Draco outside the doors when he arrived. She smiled at him and he didn't think he could recall a time when he had seen anyone prettier than Hermione when she smiled like that. 

"C'mon," he said softly, confidently, taking her hand. She followed along in a docile manner, and Draco marveled at her casual trust in him. It was as if he were Harry or Ron, it was as if she was his girl. Her pretty, innocent face told him that she knew he would never hurt her.

He had worked hard to get Hermione to trust him like that, and Draco wanted it so badly that sometimes his throat would burn, thinking about it. Now he ventured to say that he would give anything in the world for her to go back to suspecting him, questioning him, being cautious around him.

They had reached a secluded balcony on the Astronomy Tower. He would have to plan things carefully from here on out.

It was an unforgivably clear night, so that in the starlight Hermione's expressions were bare, imprinted on the back of his eyelids like looking at the sun for too long. Why, if everything was so sharp and defined, did Draco feel as if the situation were surreal?

Hermione bit her lip and looked at him with a frown. "Sometimes I wonder why I like you, but this is one of those times when I can't remember why I hated you."

She shivered, and Draco pulled her closer. _You'll remember, _he thought derisively. _You'll remember very soon. _

Her eyes met his and all he saw was trust.

_You won, Draco, _a voice in his head told him. _The girl would follow you into a hurricane if you asked her. You won. _

She brought her lips toward his and placed them on his mouth softly, firmly. It was the first kiss he ever remembered her initiating. She caressed his lips slowly with her own, winding her hands through his hair, and Draco thought he might die of either absolute self-hatred or absolute pleasure. She leaned into the kiss, and it burned his mouth like some exalted form of torture. He finally responded with his own lips, unable to help himself, and wrapped his hands around her waist, pulling her to him. The intensity between them increased and he didn't think he ever wanted anything more than he wanted her in that instant and it was probably the first time in his life he had ever broken away from a kiss before the girl.

But if he continued any further he would hurt her worse than either of them believed possible. He stepped away from her, and she looked intent in the darkness. Moonlight glanced off of her face, and Draco acknowledged that the moonlight had every right to want to be in her eyes.

_Hurt her. _

The words were like iron in his stomach.

"Do you love me?" he asked her abruptly, shifting his weight as if he were uncomfortable.

"Yes," Hermione said after a short breath. Without a hesitation, without a doubt, without an explanation, without thinking it through as Hermione Granger had analyzed every question she had ever been asked.

Not this one.

Draco laughed. Very softly, very cruelly. Her expression changed ever so slightly. He pulled her close, and she seemed to take comfort in this, sinking against him. God, that almost killed him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her ear. "It's just that you're so pretty when you cry."

"What?" Hermione asked, voice pleasantly curious.

"You're still a Gryffindor, Granger," he said with a smile as he took her hands in his own. "Still as gullible as ever. When are you going to learn?"

His tone was soft and cajoling. He could have been whispering that he loved her for how sweet he sounded.

"I don't understand," Hermione offered in a simple voice. She was genuinely confused, and that almost killed him too.

"Then why don't I spell it out for you?" Draco asked sweetly, looking into her eyes. "I just played you, Granger, and you were stupid enough to fall for it."

Her face registered confusion and the beginning of disbelief. "Stop joking around, Draco. It isn't funny."

"Aw, that's pathetically cute," Draco sneered softly. "You don't believe me?"

She stared at him hard through the darkness that somehow only seemed to make his expression clearer, more concentrated. It was absolutely mirthless. There was no joke in his eyes.

His hands were still locked around her wrists, and he held onto her ruthlessly. "The famous Hermione Granger just admitted that she _loved _me . . . do you even know how priceless that is? Potter's best friend, the biggest prude in Hogwarts . . . God, those words were priceless, Granger."

A sneer twisted his features.

"You . . .!" she said disbelievingly. She began to realize in slow motion that he wasn't kidding, and tried to jerk out of his grasp. He merely smirked and backed her up into the tower wall. They stared each other down for a few moments, and finally Hermione spoke calmly and clearly.

"You're good, Draco Malfoy. You're really good, did you know that?"

Draco raised his eyebrows. He had expected yelling or tears, not this eerie calm. Then again, what was he thinking? This was Hermione Granger–she never failed to surprise him.

She continued. "I can't believe how unforgivably stupid I was to fall for your lies."

He was silent.

The last of the disbelief seeped away, and she tried to hit him, but he caught her hand before it reached his face and slammed it back into the wall above her head.

Draco had never lied to her.

She had trusted him with every fiber of her being, like Dumbledore trusted Snape.

He would never hurt her.

She tried to hit him again, but, like a cobra, he grabbed her other hand and slammed it against the wall.

"Why did you do it?" she asked calmly. "Lead me on, I mean."

"Well," Draco started insidiously, more cruelness in his voice than she had heard in weeks, "I have one up on Potter now, don't I? I just seduced his best friend, something even he couldn't manage."

"He would never want to . . . seduce me," Hermione said weakly. She looked shakier.

"Bullshit, Granger. He wants you just as bad as I do. God, wait until I tell the other Slytherins. Potter's little princess fell hard for a Malfoy. You're pitifully trusting, _Hermione._"

He sneered her first name so sarcastically that she flinched.

"The Veritaserum wasn't real," she deduced, a statement and not a question. Hermione blinked, looking determined not to cry. It was sad and cute, because Draco could tell she wanted to.

He laughed genuinely, as if she had made a joke. "Lord, did you actually . . . think that I _loved_ you?"

Her gasp was quick, soft, almost inaudible. She wondered suddenly if she would ever be able to breathe again. It was the cruelest thing he could have said and Draco knew it.

He looked into her eyes and pushed her harder against the wall. She realized that the torture session had not been adjourned. She tried to pull away once, but then didn't resist. He was too strong, and all the strength had gone out of her. Her eyes seemed blank and glassy as she tried her hardest not to cry.

"Was any of it ever real?" she asked him point blank.

Draco pretended to consider.

"Yeah, I really wanted to fuck you. Still do, actually. I probably should have slept with you and then broken it off, but I just couldn't hide my glee much longer. If I had asked you, you would have shagged me tonight, huh?" he said knowingly, bending his head to look into her eyes. She didn't deny it. "Of course, I could probably just take you against this wall right now. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Her face was blank with shock. Why didn't she struggle?

He shoved his body roughly against hers, trying not to show any emotion. It was bittersweet, being so close to her while she trembled, helpless. He brought his lips down on hers brutally, and felt her head grate against the wall. He kissed her hard enough to bruise, one hand placed firmly around her waist and the one keeping her hands trapped above her head. She convulsed, but he only pressed harder, to make sure she would hate him forever.

At last, she sobbed into his mouth, trying to pull away but failing pathetically. It was a raw, defeated sound.

He stopped kissing her, and felt her entire body shake as she sobbed. There was no space between his body and hers; Draco knew he had really hurt her with his mockery of a kiss. He was still hurting her, his hand digging into her waist and her back grinding against the wall. Her breathing was faint and hitched.

"Get off of me, Draco," she begged softly, and turned her face away. Her voice was about to break and it was the most painful sound he'd ever heard. "Please."

He let her go. She staggered away, trying not to sob, shaking uncontrollably. He knew she didn't have the strength to run away.

"I played you good, didn't I?" he asked, smiling as she cried. "I love how pretty you are when you cry. But c'mon, baby. Mudblood, remember? I would never take you seriously."

"I h-hate you so much," Hermione said between half-sobs. "Now are you done yet, or are you planning an encore? Yeah, you played me good, Draco."

She seemed to falter as she used his first name out of habit. "Do you think I'm going to deny it?" she continued shakily. "To deny that I love you when I just told you that I did?"

"I know you love me," Draco said quietly, raising an eyebrow. "You fell for me just like every other girl in this school, you're no different. Breaking your heart was pathetically easy and that's why I did it. Because all I've ever wanted to do is hurt you as bad and hard as I could."

"You did a really good job," Hermione acknowledged, her lips trembling. She looked totally disarmed. In fact, he had never seen her more vulnerable. She fell to her knees, or rather, they gave out beneath her.

"Get out of here, Granger. Get out of here now before I show you that I really am a Death Eater. Don't come near me _ever again _or I swear I'll really hurt you."

"As if you haven't?" she asked softly.

"I'm engaged to Pansy Parkinson, by the way. I have been for two months. And you know what? She's _really _good in bed–probably the best girl I've ever had–so maybe you should ask her for tips or something."

Hermione was crumpled on the ground, and she did not look capable of opening her eyes.

"Get up," he said ruthlessly.

She didn't move.

"Get out of here, Granger, I'm not even kidding."

But then he realized she wasn't going to get up. Not because she didn't want to, but because she was literally not able to.

That was when he understood how bad he had actually hurt her.

Something complicated was happening to her face, and she shook uncontrollably. He got the feeling that she was beyond crying.

The window of the Astronomy tower cracked.

"Get up," he repeated viciously.

Hermione pushed herself up to her knees but then collapsed again soundlessly. Draco took hold of her wrist and jerked her forcefully to her feet. She pushed him away, sobbing.

"Draco . . ."

It was the worst thing he had ever heard. Soft, vulnerable, pleading, raw, desperate, pathetic, God he had to get away.

"Don't beg, Hermione," he told her softly. "It's beneath you."

She shook her head, and without warning smacked him across the face. He reeled back from the exceptionally strong blow, and wondered if maybe she had more strength left than he thought.

"Look at me, Granger," he said with a smirk. She glanced up at him, her eyes so full of pain that he immediately regretted his request. He wanted suddenly, desperately, to erase that face out of his vision.

Then he did something that Hermione believed even below Draco.

His hand came at her in slow motion and at the same time with unbelievable speed. She didn't remember the exact moment his hand connected with her face, just the feeling of shock that came after. She would later compare it to being hit by her best friend, or her father. It was that heartbreaking, and that completely unexpected. It wasn't a brutal slap, or even a very sincere one, but the fact that he had done it erased all of that. She gasped and clutched her cheek shakily. It still hurt more than she had believed possible.

He had hit a girl. Someone weaker than him, who had never, ever been capable of hurting him as bad as he had hurt her.

She watched him, there in the dark, through tear-stained eyes, and swore she saw his face crumple.

Or maybe that was just what she wanted to see.

He ran. He just ran as fast and far as he could, and tried to clear his vision so that he could focus on his next task.

* * *

Hermione sat under the stars and suddenly the world came crashing down around her ears. 

It was unbelievable to experience the realization that the person she trusted most in the world had never trusted her.

Unimaginable, really, when she came to realize that he was not everything she so solidly _knew _he was, that perhaps– dare she say it– he had never been trustworthy in the first place.

And the saddest thing of all was that she still _loved _him, even though he didn't deserve it or even want it.

She had seen this coming. Somewhere, pushed in the back of her brain, she had known it was too good to be true. She had guarded herself emotionally from Draco for so long. Finally, she had come to the realization that she didn't have to be afraid. Of choices, of challenges. Of risks, and romance.

But she had known it was coming.

Definitely.

If she had foreseen this move, then why were sobs racking her whole body, why had her legs collapsed? Why had she been so entirely brain dead?

_Did you actually . . . think I **loved **you?_

If Draco wanted to hurt her, he had accomplished it. Those words had seared through her like a mortal wound.

She made an effort to control herself and stopped crying as much as she could. Angrily she dashed the tears from her eyes.

This wasn't Hermione Granger. Hermione Granger didn't sob her heart out over boys.

At that point, sadness was too much for her to handle. It wasn't even characteristic. She refused to cry anymore over . . . Malfoy.

So sadness froze over and created a new, familiar emotion that turned her blood to ice.

Hatred.

I still love him, she thought, _but I hate him so, so much more. _

she thought, 

Absolute hatred.

God, it was an ugly feeling. It must have been what Harry felt for Lord Voldemort. She had never hated anyone so much.

Because he represented the side of herself that she hated. He represented her naivety, her unconditional trust, her weaknesses. He had taken her hand and led her like a lamb to slaughter, and she had followed him, believed every little lie, fallen for Draco Malfoy like every other bint in the school. If anything, she had proved to the world that all females were weak. Not even the strong-minded Hermione Granger could resist male charm, and she hated that most of all. She had abandoned her caution for him and he had really gotten her.

She would never let it happen again.

One course of action remained acceptable.

She would have to hurt him as bad as he had hurt her.

Because he deserved it for kissing her and shoving her and Merlin (she raised a hand tenderly to her cheek), had he actually hit her?

Because revenge was so much more dignified than sobbing her heart out like she knew she would.

Because she hated him as much as she had loved him, which was a whole lot. Because the bastard was engaged to Pansy. Because he had slept with her. Because he deserved to die more than anyone she could think of at the moment.

Because no one hurt Hermione Granger and got away with it.

Harry had just finished dancing with Lavender (Ginny was studiously avoiding him) when he noticed Malfoy enter quite abruptly. To Harry's surprise, the Slytherin headed over to him immediately. He looked flushed, out of breath, and a little disheveled. His lips were also slightly swollen. Harry spoke.

"Malfoy, have you seen Herm–"

"Potter, I need to talk to you," Draco said seriously. He looked concerned. "In private, I mean."

"What about?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"It's Hermione," Draco said, without meeting Harry's eyes. "Come outside."

Harry, immediately concerned, followed Draco at a distance out of the hall.

They found themselves walking along the darkened grounds. They failed to see a redhead trailing quietly behind them.

"Spit it out," Harry ordered bluntly.

"It's just that Hermione's run off into the woods! She said something about getting fresh air, but she wasn't acting right. I think she was under the Imperius."

Draco ran a hand through his hair, sickly pale, and let out a hitched breath. He looked really shaken up.

"Well," Harry replied, "we'll just have to look for her. I'll go this way–"

"No," Draco said sharply. "There's dangerous stuff in that forest. We're not splitting up."

"Fine," Harry answered impatiently. He followed Draco into the woods.

"Looking for Hermione?" came a concerned voice from behind them. Harry whirled to find Ron standing there, his eyes blazing. "I'm coming with."

"Alright," Harry said, distracted. He glanced at Malfoy, who was scrutinizing the ground. _What a weirdo, _Harry thought absently.

"Hey Potter?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think that someday," Draco gaped at the plant life as he walked around, "Hermione might forgive me for everything I've done to her? All these years . . ."

"Forgive you?" Harry asked confusedly. He frowned for a moment, slightly distracted and annoyed. "Malfoy, what are you on about?"

"I just wanted your opinion. I mean, would she forgive me?"

Harry didn't even bother to look back at Draco, but kept his eyes on the forest. "I think she already has."

"What?" Draco asked. He didn't even recognize the Slytherin's voice. "She . . . what . . .?"

"I mean, in a way, she forgives you for everything you've done to her. Forgiveness is an odd thing. Like with me . . . you could jump through hoops, do everything in the world for me, and I would never forgive you. But Hermione? Hermione already has. Love makes you like that, I guess. When you love someone, forgiving them is never out of the question."

Draco looked sickened. Visibly composing himself, he said, "Potter, Weasley, come look at this plant. It's weird."

Harry stooped down next to Malfoy and just had time enough to see an eight pointed blue flower before he felt Draco grab his arm. Suddenly they were spinning uncontrollably through space.

There was a tug at his navel, and darkness swirled around him. He didn't understand what was happening, only that he had been engulfed in a shimmering vortex of blackness. Draco held firmly onto his arm, and he felt the world still. Harry slammed into the ground and crumpled, gasping for air.

"What the . . .?" he heard Malfoy say, and looked up to see the blond boy massaging his head. Ron had also been grounded, but stood up quickly.

They weren't in the woods any longer, but rather on a long, flat plain. Harry straightened his glasses and could scarcely believe his eyes at the sight before him. Mammoth-like stones reared out of the ground, relentless and emphatic in the moonlight.

"Where are we?" asked Harry, with a feeling that he already knew the answer.

"I think . . ." Draco started uncertainly, "Potter, I think we're at Stonehenge."

Hermione, at length, hoisted herself up and left the Astronomy Tower. She deeply regretted losing her composure in front of Draco.

He had kissed her brutally, thoroughly, and she reached up and felt the growing bruises on her lips. All of the kisses with him before that one had come crashing back and he had handled her savagely, icily, as if he had wanted to hurt her.

No.

As if he didn't care whether he hurt her or not. That was so much worse.

She had sobbed. Told him to let her go. _Couldn't hold the sobs in. I'm pathetic. Disgraceful. _

Hadn't thought to hex him. Hadn't thought to use her wand.

Stupid of me, really, she mused, _to think that hitting a girl was above him._

she mused, 

He had disarmed her emotionally with deadly precision, knowing exactly where to strike to hurt her worst.

Anger and humiliation bubbled within her. Why had she acted so weak? Why hadn't she handled it better?

God, he would pay. Did he really think he could get away with it? She promised herself she would never be weak in front of him again.

Ever.

Someone slammed into her.

"Agh!" With a startled yell, she toppled to the ground. Trying to clear her vision, she looked up to see a proffered hand.

"Miss Granger?" Remus Lupin asked her. "I'm so sorry. I was in a terrible hurry. Merlin, you don't look well. Are you okay?"

"Oh . . . yeah," said Hermione offhandedly, gathering her composure. "Where were you going, Professor?"

Lupin frowned in the darkness. "Harry, Draco, and Ron have disappeared from the school."

He held up a copied version of the Marauder's Map, looking frazzled.

"What? Where have they gone?" Hermione asked immediately.

"I . . . I can't tell you that, Miss Granger. But I'm going after them. I want you to stay here and make sure no one suspicious enters the school. Do you understand?"

"I'm coming with you!" Hermione replied angrily. All she could think was: _what has Draco done to my two best friends?_

"No," Lupin said sharply. "No, you're not, Miss Granger. I must find an acceptable place to Apparate. Excuse me."

He walked away, quickly buried in the darkness.

A piece of paper fluttered in the wind that hadn't been there before. Hermione picked it up.

"Is that you, Hermione?" came a voice from behind her.

It was Ginny, her crimson gown luminous in the night. She appeared fierce and concerned. "You look like hell. What happened?"

Hermione shook her head dismissively. "Look, Ginny, we've got a problem. Harry, Draco, and Ron have all just disappeared. Professor Lupin ran after them, but I have no idea where they went."

"What?" Ginny asked, her voice ghastly.

Hermione unfolded the scrap of paper.

Starlight shines on the eye.

"This isn't good," Ginny said abruptly, pacing back and forth. "We _have _to follow them. Where could they have gone . . . what's that?" Ginny asked, taking the piece of paper from Hermione. "'Starlight shines on the eye.' Huh?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Let me see that," she said softly. She grabbed the piece of paper and took out her wand. Tapped it once. Frowned. Tapped it three times. Frowned again. It glowed.

"What are you–"

"It's an anagram," Hermione said simply, looking pleased with herself. "I've been studying these all year. Rearrange the letters, and it spells out something different."

Hermione moved her wand through the air, and bright, fiery letters appeared. _Starlight shines on the eye. _She began frantically rearranging them, moving some out of the way completely, getting frustrated and beginning again.

Finally she stopped and looked at the phrase in front of her.

"Starlight shines on the eye," she said softly. "_Slytherin is at Stonehenge_."

"Unbelievable," Ginny remarked. "How did you figure that out?"

"There are tricks to solving anagrams," Hermione said quickly. "I've been doing them a lot for advanced course work. So you think this message has to do with where Lupin went?"

"It's better than nothing," Ginny replied after a moment. "Let's go to Stonehenge."

"Well, it's worth a try," reasoned Hermione. Her tears had almost all dried, but she still felt hollow, weak, feathery, like just one of Draco's breaths would blow her away. "But how do we get there?"

"I know how to Apparate," Ginny told the other girl quietly.

Hermione looked torn. "Hold on, Ginny. I don't really think you should come–"

"I'm going with you or without you," Ginny said fiercely. Then, to curb the harshness, "But preferably with you."

"How do you know how to Apparate? You're not old enough."

"Never mind," said Ginny with a wave of her hand. "Now c'mon, let's get off the grounds."

The two girls set off hurriedly for the Forbidden Forest.

((**A.N. **Well lots of things have change; next chapter, everyone meets at Stonehenge and things really start to heat up. Review please; it helps the enviornment. ;D))


	29. Showdown at Stonehenge, Part I

((**A.N. **Well here's Chapter 29. I know, I know, it's been WAY too long, but it's here at last and the next chapter is ready to go too. It's actually been so long that I've written a little recap of the last chapter before this one starts. Warning: this chapter may confuse the heck out of ya'll if you don't remember the last 20 chapters too well. Try your best. Hope I tied up all loose ends. I'm open to questions.))

* * *

**PART III: SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN**

_Love is whatever you can still betray. **Betrayal** can only happen if you **love. **_

–_John LeCarre_

* * *

_Recap:_

_They weren't in the woods any longer, but rather on a long, flat plain. Harry straightened his glasses and could scarcely believe his eyes at the sight before him. Mammoth-like stones reared out of the ground, relentless and emphatic in the moonlight. _

"_Where are we?" asked Harry, with a feeling that he already knew the answer. _

"_I think . . ." Draco started uncertainly, "Potter, I think we're at Stonehenge."_

* * *

**Chapter 29**; Showdown at Stonehenge, Part I 

Harry, who had been shocked at first, now narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Why had Malfoy grabbed his arm in the clearing? Why did the Slytherin seem to be looking for something? The situation on a whole seemed suspicious. Ron brushed himself off; he appeared equally as confused as Harry.

Then it clicked.

"Malfoy," Harry hissed, drawing his wand. "You led us here purposely, didn't you? This is a trap! "

"Potter, I don't know what you're . . ." Draco started. Then he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Don't try to pin this on me! _You _brought us here, didn't you?"

It was a superb piece of acting.

"Don't play innocent," Harry snarled, obvious pain in his eyes. "I didn't think you were a friend, but I trusted you. With my best friend. Tell me, Malfoy," Harry said softly, voice taking on a calm, deadly tone, "where is Hermione?"

"I don't know," Draco answered truthfully. "Let's just leave her out of this, okay?"

"You're dead, Malfoy," Harry said with a derisive sort of laugh. "Do you realize that? I'm going to kill you right here."

"Potter," Draco said nervously. Where the _hell _was his back-up? "You're jumping to conclusions. You always do that."

"No, I'm not," Harry said, stepping closer to Draco. "I wish I was, but looking back, I never should have trusted you."

Harry opened his mouth, but Draco would never find out what curse he intended to use.

"Stop it, 'Arry," came a voice from behind one of the pillars. Shocked, Harry glanced around. Fleur Delacour stepped out from behind one of the pillars, dressed in the same sleek silver evening gown she had worn to the ball.

"I can't let you kill 'im, 'Arry," she said icily, glancing once at Draco. She had to be the most beautiful creature in the world, bathed in fresh moonlight.

"Fleur?" Harry exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

She looked somber as she raised her wand and pointed it at Harry. "I'm going to 'ave to kill you, 'Arry."

The green-eyed boy was so shocked that he fumbled with his wand and caught it just before it slipped to the ground. "You're . . . you're working with Malfoy, aren't you? I should have known."

"No, she isn't," Draco admitted. He seemed genuinely confused for a split second. He masked it quickly.

"I would never work with 'im," Fleur announced scathingly, tossing her hair, which looked only like intensified moonlight in the darkness. Then her eyes cleared. "I'm sorry, 'Arry. Avada–"

"No you do not!" came a deep male voice. Looking like a stone pillar himself, Viktor Krum stepped out from behind an opposite pillar, his wand pointed at Fleur. "Move an inch, you filthy murderer, and I vill not hesitate to kill you."

Harry looked baffled. He shifted slightly, into of offensive position. "Where did _you_ come from?"

"I followed _her_," Krum sneered, jerking his head toward Fleur. The Bulgarian boy looked dark, haggard, and deranged in the deep shadow of the stone pillar.

"You're calling Fleur a murderer?" Draco scoffed with a laugh. "Don't be a hypocrite, Krum. _You're _the real murderer, we all know it."

Krum glared at Draco as he trained his wand on the Bulgarian. Now the four of them were at a stalemate. Harry's wand was pointed at Draco, Draco's at Krum, Krum's at Fleur, and Fleur's at Harry. No one could move without fear of getting cursed into oblivion by another.

"Alright, someone tell me _what the hell _is going on here," Harry growled impatiently. Ron, relatively forgotten, stood to the side and watched in confusion.

"Fleur has been trying to kill you all along, Harry," Krum bit out, glaring hatefully at the silver-haired girl.

"Liar," Draco hissed immediately.

"Shut your mouth for one minute, you inbred moron!" Krum roared, losing his temper altogether.

There sounded a 'pop' to the left of Draco and two girls in evening gowns plopped to the ground. Harry soon recognized them as none other than Hermione and Ginny. Ginny was up first, immediately evaluating the situation. Her keen eyes widened as she took in the scene before her. Hermione remained on the ground, dazed; she looked more fragile than Harry remembered.

"You've got to be kidding me, Weasley," Draco said, disbelief laced through his voice. "This isn't your mission. And Granger, what in the _bloody hell _are you doing here?"

His voice was full of so much anger that Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. Shakily, Hermione stood up and glared at him so hatefully that he looked taken aback.

"_Don't speak to me,_" she trembled, biting off each word sharply.

The girl looked a mess. Her hair was flyaway and her gown was rumpled, ripped and dirtied where she had landed when she had fallen. A darkening bruise on her cheek and swollen lips brought memories crashing back to Draco.

"Hermione, you look awful," Harry commented, "what did you . . .?"

But his eyes darted to Draco, and he put two and two together.

"Oh, Malfoy," Harry started with a bitten back laugh, "if you made her look like that then you have no idea how bad I'm going to hurt you."

His wand trembled. It was an unspoken rule at Hogwarts that no one messed with Hermione Granger. No one was stupid enough to piss Harry off that badly. She was his golden girl, she was untouchable, and Draco didn't think he had ever seen Harry so angry.

"If ve could cut za drama here, I vould like to remind you all that Fleur is about to kill Harry," Krum interjected, apparently bored with the proceedings.

"What?" Ginny asked suddenly.

"Fleur killed Franz and Myra!" Krum roared angrily. "It is obvious! I followed her here because I had finally figured her out!"

"But Viktor, even Dumbledore and the French Ministry think you killed them," Hermione started in a dismayed manner. "We have proof!"

"She is good at hiding za evidence," said Krum simply. Fleur's expression remained unchanged as accusations buried her.

"Fleur," Harry said quickly, "I don't exactly believe Krum, but . . . why do you want to kill me?"

Fleur shrugged elegantly. "I do not mind admitting it. I was ze murderer."

"What?" Draco cried. "Krum . . . you have her under the Imperius!"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry snapped. "No one wants to hear what you have to say. Why did you kill them, Fleur?"

"I 'ave been trying to kill_ you_ ze whole time," Fleur stated calmly, pointing at Harry. "Killing Franz was a mistake. You see, I . . . zis is 'orrible to admit . . . I was convinced he was you, 'Arry. You two looked very similar with your backs turned."

Draco remembered at the Introduction Ball in Beauxbatons; he had walked up behind Franz and mistaken him for Harry. They indeed looked very similar.

"What about Myra?" Hermione asked. "She was your best friend."

"I was so sad about Myra," Fleur admitted, remorse evident in the way she closed her eyes, "but she was on to me, and I couldn't 'ave zat. Remember when I sobbed at ze table the morning after she died? I felt so guilty about killing her. She always was too smart for 'er own good."

"But . . . how?" Hermione asked confusedly. "I remember Myra, right before she died, warning me about _Krum, _not you!"

"I killed her by–"

'POP.'

Ernie Macmillan appeared suddenly. He looked out of place, dressed in garish yellow robes and a matching hat.

"How did _you _get here?" Harry cried. He didn't look happy.

"I'm sorry, but . . ." Ernie was breathing heavily, "I overheard you two . . ." he pointed at Ginny and Hermione, "and I had to come. I thought it might be about the murderer and . . ."

"Well, it bloody well is now!" Draco cried, exasperated. It sounded _almost _as if he was worried about the kid. "I didn't plan on anyone coming here but me and Potter, but it seems word slipped out about the _party. _Is there anyone else who wants to make themselves known before the ruthless slaughter commences?"

"Ignore him," Hermione spat ruthlessly. "Fleur, how did you kill Myra?"

"I pretended to accidentally knock over 'er teacup in a rage about my diamonds being stolen, and when I conjured a new one, zer was poison in the tea."

"But Myra told me to stay away from _Krum_ . . ." Hermione mused.

"I had a girlfriend, Herm-o-ninny," Krum said. "Zat is my big secret. I didn't want to tell you."

"Wait, wait, wait," Ernie cut in. "Back up, Fleur. You're saying you set this whole thing up . . . the storm and all? We took Veritaserum that night. Everyone, save Michael, was totally innocent. No one said 'yes' to the questions Hermione asked."

Fleur laughed at this one. "I took advantage of 'Ermione's cleverness and dislike of me on zat one. Recall zat I am part Veela. I cannot lie. Also recall zat it was _Draco _and _Hermione _distributing ze Veritaserum. I approached 'Ermione and told her zat I didn't need any, knowing zat she would suspect me and give me ze Vetiraserum without fail. Guess what, 'Ermione? Veritaserum cancels out my ability to always tell ze truth. Two truths equal a lie, to reverse ze famous proverb. Since I drank the Veritaserum, I could lie. If I really had not wanted to take the potion, who would I have approached? You, or Draco?"

"I've . . . I've never read anything about that!" Hermione cried, going red in the face.

"Few 'ave," Fleur said quietly. "As for why Michael almost said 'yes' when he took the Veritaserum? He was my accomplice. I blackmailed 'im into creating a storm over Beauxbatons to trap us all inside so I could kill 'Arry."

"That's why he was acting nervous the whole time! Why he dropped the champagne glass . . ." Ernie said, piecing it together. He gasped. "And Michael was on my team for the Advanced Courses. We were doing 'Weather Manipulation!' How could I have been so thick? Of course he'd know how to create a storm!"

"Exactly," Fleur answered. She seemed cast in a completely different light. Where had the bubbly, beautiful girl they'd all known disappeared to?

"I can't believe this," Draco hissed. "Krum . . . What about when you told us you were flying a broom during Franz's murder? You couldn't have been! Brooms can't function in a magical storm."

"I am a professional quidditch player, moron. Do you not think I vould have charmed my broom against that? Why did _you _say you vere talking a walk?"

Draco sighed. "I had just gotten back from a meeting . . . with my father. I portkeyed there and back. I almost couldn't get back into the castle because of the brewing storm. That's how I discovered the portkeys didn't work, and why I was late."

Ginny gave a short and derisive laugh, and Draco glanced at her.

"That day on the boat in Durmstrang," Draco continued. "You were trying to kill us, Krum! You practically drove us into the Onyx cliffs!"

"I vas just having a little fun," Krum answered offhandedly. "It vas you, Meester Malfoy, who made the situation more dangerous than it really was."

"It was Myra who stopped the ship from crashing into the cliffs though, wasn't it?" Ernie added in. "She was a very powerful witch. Descended from Mordred himself, I hear."

"Another reason why I killed her," Fleur answered stonily.

"_What?_" Harry asked curiously. "Is that why Myra asked me about Mordred's blade at the Introduction Ball? She's related to him?"

"Yes," Fleur answered simply. Harry's brain began to feel too full; the information being revealed was too much to take in all at once.

"Wait," Draco said again. "Krum, the night the lights went out, you were talking to someone in the fireplace. You said, and I quote, 'I will kill him, just like I killed Franz.'"

"I vas speaking figuratively," Krum grated. "I happened to be talking to a friend about the boy my girlfriend vas cheating vith. I beat up Franz for dating her once, also."

"That night in the swamp!" Draco said more quickly and desperately. "You pulled a knife on Hermione . . ."

"He did?"

"Shut up, Potter. You pulled a knife on Granger and tried to kill her! How do you explain that?"

"It vas a letter opener, fool. I vas nervous," Krum explained. "I vas merely fiddling vith the letter opener. I vanted Herm-o-ninny's help . . . I vanted her to date me to make my girlfriend jealous. Zat is all."

"Hah," came a snort from Hermione.

"So that was what you two were arguing about right before Myra died," Ginny chimed in. "And if I recall correctly, Fleur started crying when the Sky Thestrals approached and claimed she couldn't see them anymore."

"Eet eez true," said Fleur sadly. "I murdered two people . . . of course I had lost my innocence."

"But the lights!" Ernie said, glancing around. "Who cut the lights during the storm?"

"It was Myra," Fleur said immediately. "Idiotically, she thought that casting a powerful Nox charm . . . she was good with magic . . . would give 'er a chance to root out ze murderer. I tried to kill 'Arry zat night, but I could not find 'im."

"Why did you ditch me, Malfoy?" Ernie asked imperiously.

"To follow Krum," Draco said wearily. "That was the night I listened to him talking to someone in the fire."

"Wait, wait, wait," Hermione chided, holding her hands up. "If Krum was talking in the Floo, then who were the two Bulgarians I met in the ballroom?"

"_I've _been working on that," Ernie told her. "They were Ivan and Hilda. Those two are part of the Bulgarian Mafia. They were trying to root out and kill the German spy in our ranks."

"German spy?" Draco cried in surprise. "Well, who was it?"

"Renae, I think now," Ernie stated with a nod.

"No way," Harry scoffed.

"Think about it," lectured Ernie. "She just enrolled in Beauxbatons this year. Didn't you notice that she doesn't have a French accent? Come to think of it, she doesn't have_ any _accent."

"That's not possible," Hermione announced haughtily.

"I know," continued Ernie. "Think about it. She used a very complicated voice-censor charm to hide her German accent . . . and to all of us it sounds as if she has no accent! She was acting very nervous when we took the Veritaserum in Beauxbatons . . . she was afraid of giving herself away."

"So Ivan and Hilda were trying to find her and kill her for the mafia . . . why?"

Everyone was surprised when Krum spoke up. "Za German and Bulgarian mafias have been feuding for centuries."

"Why was she here? What did she want to find out?" Ginny interrogated.

"Germany knows a war is coming," Hermione piped up. "Between Voldemort and Harry Potter, I mean. Between Muggles and Wizards. They probably wanted to find out which side is stronger, and join up with either Harry or Voldemort. Renae was sent to gather information, I'm sure."

"Does anyone find this situation as ridiculous as me?" Draco asked them. No one replied; they all seemed to sense a terrible tension radiating from him.

"One question hasn't been answered. Who screamed when the lights went out?" Hermione asked, narrowing her eyes.

"I figured that out too, just tonight," Ernie told them triumphantly. "Ava did. She some sort of jewel thief, I think."

There were several cries of disbelief.

"Alright," said Harry, glancing around. "Who's _not _guilty of some criminal charge?"

No one answered, which was rather disturbing.

"Are you suggesting that every one of the Ambassadors had a double motive?" Ernie asked. "Because I don't have one. Now back to Ava. She took advantage of the lights going out, and screamed to cause a diversion. Then she ran to Fleur's rooms and stole her rather large diamond collection."

"_That's _where my diamonds went!" Fleur cried angrily.

"That day at the pearl stand," Hermione deduced. "She hung back . . . she might have been trying to steal the pearls."

There was silence as it sank in that they had been standing stock still at Stonehenge with wands pointed at one another. Ron seemed solely uninterested.

"Then that leaves all the questions answered but one," Harry announced.

"And what question is that?" Ginny asked.

"Why were you trying to kill me in the first place, Fleur?"

A noise sounded from behind one of the pillars.

"I believe _I _can answer that."

And Remus Lupin emerged into the moonlight. He gave the near-full moon a glance, one of unspoken terror, badly masked by weariness.

"Professor! I forgot about you!" Hermione exclaimed.

The man regarded Fleur with a shrewd and calculating expression.

"You figured it out, did you?" Lupin asked. "You were the one ahead of me in research."

Fleur nodded.

"So you're working for Voldemort," Lupin stated coolly, quickly unsheathing his wand.

"No, she isn't," Draco answered, as if he himself didn't believe it.

"You moron," Fleur addressed Lupin heavily. "If a was working for Voldemort, can't you see zat I would 'ave tried to lure 'Arry 'ere? Ze last thing Voldemort wants right now is for ze boy to die."

Lupin hesitated and nodded. "Then who are you working for?"

"No one," Fleur told him. "I was working only against Voldemort, if you 'ad guessed. Voldemort _cannot _obtain ze sword. If he does, he will take the world in one fell swoop. The only way for 'im to obtain the sword eez, as you 'ave hopefully discovered, through 'Arry. If I kill 'Arry, Voldemort will never be able to get ze sword."

"But the prophecy, you idiot girl," Lupin countered. "The prophecy states that Harry is the _only one _who can kill Voldemort."

"Will _someone,_" Harry exploded suddenly, "tell me what they are bloody rambling about?"

"I 'ad never 'eard of ze prophecy," Fleur intoned. "I _do _know zat if Voldemort gets ze sword, he will kill 'Arry anyway. He will be all powerful."

"Harry," Lupin said quietly and urgently. "Draco has lured you here in order to trick you into obtaining Mordred's sword. Voldemort then plans to take the sword from you and become infinitely powerful."

"Me?" Harry asked. "Why does it always have to be me?"

"Because . . ." Lupin and Fleur shared an exasperated look, "to make a long story short, you are King Arthur's, and by default, Mordred's . . . only rightful heir. Mordred placed an enchantment on his burial site. It is blood activated. You can retrieve the sword, only you, because you share his blood."

"Oh, boy," Harry stated simply.

"So Fleur," started Hermione coldly, "you were trying to kill Harry . . . to _prevent _Voldemort from getting the sword?"

Fleur nodded. "A just cause, no? I had to get 'ere before You-Know-Who did."

"Too late, you little whore," came yet another disembodied voice. From out of thin air stepped Lucius Malfoy, followed by nine or ten hooded figures that were presumably Death Eaters.

Harry tensed. How could so many people hide in one place? It had only been Harry, Draco, and Ron when this had all started.

Suddenly everything went cold. A tall figure appeared out of thin air, his cloak concealing his features. Everyone, all the same, could guess who he was.

The drop in temperature, the sickly presence . . . it was Lord Voldemort.

((**A.N. **If your plot-related question didn't get answered in this chapter, it will probably be adressed in the next chapter. Happy holidays, everyone!))


	30. Showdown at Stonehenge, Part II

((**A.N. **Well, here it is- it was a long time in coming- the last chapter of Part III. I felt that Chapter 29 was a little...urgg... but this one's slightly better so I hope ya'll enjoy. Cheers!))

**PART III: SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN**

* * *

_I love you, and because I love you, I would sooner have you hate me for telling the truth than love me for telling lies._

– _Pietro Aretino _

* * *

**Chapter 30; **Showdown at Stonehenge, Part II 

Harry, Draco, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Krum, Fleur, Lupin, Lucius, Voldemort, and ten Death Eaters (surrounding the group) eyed one another carefully on Salisbury Plain.

Voldemort had dragged something out from under the Shield Charm (for that was what the Death Eaters had used to conceal themselves) and Harry quickly noted that it looked like a body.

"So what makes you think," Harry stated casually, "that I will get the sword for you? And why do you want the sword if you could just kill me now?"

Harry didn't seem nervous at all. His words were cool and truthful. Ernie, on the other hand, looked panicked that they had been surrounded and outnumbered.

"Come now, boy," hissed a deadly, inhuman voice from the cloak. "You really think I would stop at killing you? I want to own the world, as you should know. The sword, I have discovered, is my answer to both. Why do I believe you will listen to me? You have no choice."

Voldemort shifted the body around so that everyone could see its face.

It was Ron Weasley. Lucius immediately pressed his wand to Ron's throat, who seemed quite unconscious.

"No," Harry interjected, panic flooding his face for the first time. "Ron is right . . . he's right . . . here."

They all turned to look at 'Ron,' who was changing abruptly. His eyes had become green, his skin dark, and Harry watched in horror as he melded into a completely different person.

Blaise Zabini.

"Blaise?" Draco marveled softly. "That's you?"

"Of course," Blaise sneered. "That's right, Potter. Ever since the beginning of this year, I've been impersonating your precious best friend, and you were too busy jetting around Europe to notice."

"It's not possible," Harry said simply.

"That's why Blaise went missing," Hermione spoke up, wide-eyed. "Because he polyjuiced into Ron as a cover up. It would cause more suspicion if Ron was missing than if Blaise was. And . . . my God, Harry, how could we not have noticed? Ron's been acting odd all year, but we were too busy . . ." she trailed off and visibly swallowed tears.

"Do you get it yet, Granger?" Draco sneered. "I was just using you to get closer to Potter so that I could lure him here."

Harry observed that Hermione looked like she was going to collapse.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said quietly, "you say one more word to her and I'll blow your head off with all these people watching."

"Touchy, touchy," Blaise drawled sardonically. He then sidled over to Ginny, who was only meters in front of Harry, and slid his arm possessively around her waist. He drew her close and leered terribly at Harry.

"Let go of her," Harry snarled, voice a low rumble. "For Merlin's sake, Zabini, please let her go."

Ginny turned her head away from Blaise very slowly and stared at the ground. Her eyes were full to the brim with tears. She blinked once, very determinedly, and when she looked up at Harry her eyes were dry.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she whispered, "but this is how things are."

Harry didn't catch her drift. "What?" he asked dumbly.

"Don't you get it, Potter?" Blaise snapped triumphantly. "Ginevra is on our side. She's a Death Eater."

"No," Harry gasped, his voice raw. "That isn't true."

"It is," Ginny told him firmly, her eyes going hard.

"Ginny," Hermione's voice was barely above a whisper, a plead.

"Avada–!" cried a female voice. There was a thump, and everyone turned around to see that one of the Death Eaters had tackled Fleur.

"Restrain the idiot girl," Voldemort hissed, "do not let her kill Potter. Someone guard the Slav, he may cause trouble." A Death Eater moved closer to Krum.

"The half-breed as well," Voldemort ordered. The Death Eater that moved to guard Lupin disarmed him and then socked him in the face. Lupin fell to the ground and stayed there. The Death Eater that had tackled Fleur gave a high pitched laugh as she smashed Fleur's face into the ground with her foot.

"And someone take care of that filthy Mudblood," Lucius added as an afterthought. "She is clever."

"I've got her," Draco said immediately, advancing on Hermione. She had her wand out faster than lightning and had muttered a disarming spell at Draco, but one of the other Death Eaters parried it. Draco disarmed her quickly and grabbed her wrist.

"Don't touch me," Hermione hissed, with so much hate and desperation and vehemence that it could have cracked the earth. But Draco twisted her arm until she yelped and wrapped his free arm around her. She shuddered violently at his proximity.

Harry, the only one left unguarded, shook his head in disbelief. "Are you asking for it, Malfoy? Do you want to die a painful death?"

Draco didn't reply to Harry. Instead he said to Hermione, "Don't move, Granger. I'm serious."

She tried to kick him in the shin.

"Enough small talk," Voldemort decided, hissing scornfully. "Now, Potter. Enter the circle of stones and stand directly in the center of the clearing. Then, slash your own arm and drip blood onto the circle we have marked. That should activate the gate. If you fail to do exactly as I have just said, I will kill Ron Weasley without a second thought. He is completely disposable to me. I will not hesitate."

Harry glanced once at Hermione, and once at the unconscious Ron, his face pale and unassuming in the moonlight.

"I guess I have no choice then," Harry conceded with a grim look. Slowly he started toward the center of the stones.

The scene playing out before them was surreal. Moonlight spilt like a waterfall of unicorn blood over the monolithic stones. How many people had stood within these exact confinements of stone and studied, marveled, questioned, worshiped? How could it be that this ancient circular structure stood stoic, unmoving, throughout millenniums of rapid change?

The black-haired youth stopped in the center, at the point it had all been built around. He _was _the Once and Future King, heir of Arthur, Heir of Mordred, the rightful ruler of Britain.

He pulled back the sleeve of his cloak and touched his wand to the tip of his forearm.

Hesitation.

"I need a knife," Harry said clearly.

"Use your wand, idiot," Lucius sneered.

"I don't know the enchantment," Harry told them, guileless. "Do you really think we learn how to cut open our own arms at Dumbledore's school?"

"Draco, conjure the boy a knife and give it to him," Lucius snarled, exasperated and impatient.

"Impedimentia," Draco muttered, completely immobilizing Hermione. Then he performed the enchantment to conjure a knife, and (was there a moment of hesitation?), made his way to the center of the circle.

Smirking callously, Draco jabbed the knife at Harry, who dodged it, and then he offered it hilt-first to the other boy.

Harry took the knife and, quite without warning, lunged at Draco. Draco dodged out of the way for the most part, but Harry managed to put a gash in his arm before two Death Eaters had restrained him.

Draco hissed in pain. Blood gushed out of the wound and Draco stood rooted on the spot, glaring at Harry. Then he backed slowly out of the circle of stones, expression dark.

One of the hooded figures wrestled the knife from Harry, and the other drew up his sleeve swiftly. The first Death Eater slid the blade into Harry's forearm. The boy cried out involuntarily, dropping to his knees. Blood gushed from his arm onto the marked point, and almost before it reached the ground, something happened.

The scene seemed to freeze.

Harry, poised on his knees, face scrunched in pain, arm gushing with blood that shimmered crimson in the moonlight. The hooded figures, one with a bloody knife, the other restraining Harry.

Frozen.

Absolutely frozen to the onlookers.

Someone gasped. The moon had somehow reached the largest stone node, shining directly between the slabs of stone and into the center of the clearing. Pearly moonlight seemed to grow brighter as it illuminated the three figures. It was first dim, then lucid, then luminescent, then splendid, next enlightening, heavenly, painful, blinding, inconceivable.

And when it was finished, the clearing unfroze. Harry's shuddering gasps rang out among the stones, and the Death Eaters staggered back fearfully.

A black tomb had appeared in front of Harry, for it was no doubt a tomb. The gate had been opened with blood. Next to the tomb was a pure white stone, and from it protruded the hilt of a sword. It was an unremarkable sword hilt, but . . . where had Draco seen it before?

Voldemort strode forward in a flash and placed his long, white fingers around the hilt. He tugged, but the sword didn't seem to budge.

"Just as I suspected," he hissed. "The Potter brat will have to remove the sword himself. It has an unbreakable blood enchantment on it. Only the true heir can remove that sword. Crabbe, Goyle, Macnair, Lestrange, and Malfoy. Come here and surround the boy completely. When he succeeds in removing the sword, wrestle it away from him, kill him, do anything you must. Then hand the sword to me. Whichever one of you hands me that sword will become my second in command."

The Death Eaters clustered hungrily around Harry, intent on their task.

"Harry!" Ernie cried, his only ally that wasn't unconscious or immobilized. "You can't just let them do this!"

Finally Harry came to terms with the seriousness of the situation. The knife, which lay forgotten at his feet, would prove helpful. He picked it up before anyone could stop him, but he didn't wield it at anyone else; he pressed it to his own throat.

The Death Eaters started to lunge at Harry, but Harry jerked the blade harder and they froze as the repercussions of this dawned. He was holding himself hostage.

"No one move a muscle," Harry bit out clearly, "or I swear to God I'll slit my own throat and you'll never be able to get the sword."

Voldemort hissed.

"He's bluffing," Lucius announced callously.

"No," Draco countered suddenly, recognizing the fiery determination Harry got in his eyes when he was _set _on something. "No, he's not."

"Let all of these people go," Harry ordered Voldemort soundly. "That's Krum, Fleur, Ernie, Hermione, Ron, Lupin," his eyes flashed with pain as they landed on Ginny, "and anyone else who wants to go. Then . . . I'll get the sword for you. I swear."

"He's lying through his teeth!" Bellatrix Lestrange exclaimed angrily. "We can't trust him."

"I'm giving you five seconds," Harry said, facing Voldemort angrily. "Let them go or I die. Five . . . four . . ."

"Harry, don't do it!" Ernie cried desperately.

"Three."

The boy looked pale but determined.

"Two."

Ginny jammed her fist into her mouth to keep from screaming. Voldemort looked anxious, uncertain. Harry closed his eyes.

"One . . ."

"Do it!" Voldemort cried suddenly. "Do what the boy says. Free them all except the half-breed and Weasley. The werewolf will go straight to Dumbledore and we still need Weasely. Because Potter, if you go against your word, I will still kill him."

Harry looked torn, then nodded.

Draco undid Hermione's freezing charm and shoved her roughly away from him. "Harry," Hermione cried immediately, "I'm not leaving. You know I won't leave . . ."

"Get out of here, Hermione," Harry said unflinchingly, "that's an order. I'm not allowing you a choice. Go."

"No."

"Krum," said Harry. "please get Hermione out of here."

With two 'pop's, Ernie and Fleur had disappeared. Krum approached Hermione and took her arm gently. "Herm-o-ninny . . . come . . ."

"No," she said fiercely, but with a 'pop' the two of them had disappeared. Ginny, Blaise, and Draco remained side by side at the edge of the clearing. Lupin, now conscious, remained on the ground, watching Harry closely, Ron's unconscious form beside him. Voldemort and the other Death Eaters, save the ones guarding Lupin and Ron, surrounded Harry.

"Put down the knife, boy," Lucius growled. Voldemort placed his wand on Ron's heart.

"Harry," came Lupin's unexpected voice. "Do it. Put the knife down."

"What?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Just trust me, Harry," Lupin said. "Put the knife down." His expression clearly said, _have I ever been wrong?_

Harry slowly placed the knife on the floor and Lucius grabbed it.

"That's a good boy," Lucius murmured. "Now just put your hands on the hilt and pull out the sword."

Harry stood in front of the pillar, and Lupin couldn't help but notice the acute similarities to the tale of the sword and the stone. Is that what Slytherin had meant to do? Recreate the legend of King Arthur?

Harry took a deep breath and put his hands on the hilt. The King Reborn.

He tugged at the blade as everyone watched with baited breath.

Nothing happened.

The blade didn't move an inch.

"Pull harder," Voldemort said simply, greed evident in his voice.

Harry tugged with all of his might. The blade truly seemed cast in stone.

"Impossible!" Voldemort cried, his voice a high-frequency nightmare. "He is the heir . . . it has to work!"

"How do you know I'm the heir?" Harry asked guardedly.

"You opened the gate with your blood," Blaise spoke up impatiently. "I'm the one who researched this . . . you should be able to remove that sword."

"My blood . . ." Harry repeated.

And suddenly it all clicked in Lupin's head. Hit him like a bludgeon across the face. Mordred, or Slytherin, if you preferred, had done _exactly _what Lupin had earlier imagined.

Recreated history.

No, history had recreated itself, and would repeat itself again.

Slytherin was a genius. A master. His plan was flawless, except that it was infinitely flawed. A paradox, of sorts. He had tried to remake history and in the end, it would only end up repeating itself.

There was a chance . . . but no, Lupin decided, he would take that chance.

"You've overlooked the most important piece of this whole puzzle," Lupin announced callously.

"What?"

"Blaise," the Professor called out, as if picking on a student in class. "You figured this all out, so tell me . . . what is the latin word for dragon or snake?"

"Draco," Blaise answered automatically, glancing at his friend.

"What did the druids worship?"

"A snake god."

"What did they call it?"

"Draconita."

"What is the measurement commonly associated with Stonehenge?"

"A . . . a Draconic month."

"What star aligns directly with the center of Stonehenge?"

"Thubin."

"What constellation is the star in?"

"Well, it's . . . Draco."

Lupin let out a laugh. "_Every single clue _we've come across has pointed us to Mordred's rightful heir . . . not Harry, but Draco."

Everyone turned to face Draco, shell-shocked. It was a couple of seconds before someone could wrangle up a protest.

"But the blood," Ginny said softly. "Harry's blood activated the gate that made Slytherin's tomb appear."

"No," said Lupin. "It was Draco's blood."

"But he . . .!"

"Harry slashed him with the knife, do you remember? Some of his blood dripped into the circle. It merely took a while to activate. Harry's blood spilling on the same spot a few seconds later had nothing to do with the gate opening."

"My own son . . ." Lucius whispered softly, "does that mean I can take the sword too?"

Lupin spoke clearly. "No. Voldemort has Slytherin's blood too, doesn't he, and he couldn't remove the sword. Only the chosen heir . . . Draco . . . can remove it."

Harry gave a puzzled glance in Lupin's direction. Why was the Professor telling them all of this? Lupin shook his head almost imperceptibly at Harry.

"It is _literally _written in the stars that Draco should remove the blade," Lupin continued.

"Draco," Voldemort said, "come forth and retrieve the sword. Then hand it to me, and you will be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams."

Draco hesitated for only a moment before making up his mind. He would remove the sword, but he wouldn't give it to Voldemort right away. He would use it as a bargaining chip.

As he strode forward, the black-hooded figures parted for him, looking at the boy with a new sense of reverence and respect.

The youngest Malfoy was reminded ironically of the tale of the sword and the stone as he stood before the altar. A boy whom no one had expected would remove the sword and become and Mordred and King Arthur's heir.

_Am I the king reborn? _Draco thought.

He placed his hand carefully around the hilt of the blade.

There was a 'chink' and the blade slowly slid free.

Blackness.

Roaring.

A man had appeared before him, the same man that came to him in dreams. He held the pure black sword, and offered the hilt to Draco. Grasping it, the silver-haired boy felt a jolt of lightning run through him.

"The words," Slytherin hissed, pointing at the blade. Draco held the sword up to the moonlight to find that runic writing was engraved along the blade.

White hot words seared into his mind. _For everything I could not be. _

"You, my son, my heir," hissed Modred, "are Slytherin reborn. You are the correction to my mistakes, the repentance for my sins, the remedy to my flaws. You are everything I could never be. I have created you for this purpose."

"But I'm me," Draco answered simply.

"Exactly," Slytherin replied. "I betrayed my father, Arthur, and my kingdom, Draco. _That_ was my flaw. Now . . . history will play itself out again, but this time, it will change. It will be correct."

Blackness.

Someone was gasping for air. Draco's eyes flew open and he found himself surrounded by Death Eaters. He had fallen to his knees. The sword was clasped tightly in his left hand.

"For everything I could not be," Draco repeated softly. He stood up, legs shaky and uncertain.

"You blacked out," Lucius told Draco with a rather disgusted look on his face. "Now Draco, give me the sword."

"What about Voldemort?" the Slytherin boy asked softly.

"Just shut up, boy," Lucius hissed, "and give me the sword."

"I . . ." Draco paused midway through handing it to Lucius. "No."

"No?" his father echoed faintly.

There was an odd, dark, electric current surging through Draco, enhancing his senses, strengthening his muscles.

"I said no," Draco assured his father. Lucius tried to snatch the sword, but when he made contact with Draco's arm, he flew backwards as if shocked.

"Just kill him and then take it," one Death Eater suggested.

"No!" Lupin spoke up, and everyone went silent. Lupin always knew what he was talking about. "If you kill the boy with the sword in his hand, you will not be able to pry it away from his dead body. The _only_ way that Voldemort could get the sword is if Draco _gives _it to him. Voluntarily. I see what you're thinking," Lupin countered quickly as Voldemort raised his wand, "but the Imperius won't work either."

There was absolute silence as everyone realized that Draco had complete control of the situation.

"Draco," Voldemort started, his tone appeasing, "I will give you anything you like . . . second in command . . . if you give me the sword. I will give you power, riches . . ."

"Draco, my son," Lucius pleaded desperately, "my own blood. Give _me _the sword. I love you so much . . ."

And the other Death Eaters started chiming in, begging Draco to give _them _the sword, claiming that they deserved it most.

"Stop," Draco cried, covering his ears, but his plea was lost in a sea of pleas. He tried to break out of the circle of Death Eaters surrounding him, and pushed his way through, face a mask of confusion.

"Harry!" Lupin called softly, as the Death Eaters argued. Harry staggered over to Lupin and the Professor grabbed Harry's arm and dissapparated on the spot.

"They got away!" Blaise cried angrily. He pointed at the spot where Lupin had been sitting.

"No!" Voldemort screeched. Draco took this moment to break through the sea of blackness. He didn't try to apparate, he just ran. Unsure of what to do, the Death Eaters and Voldemort froze in shock.

* * *

Draco just ran. He was running, running, running as fast and far as he could, but he had the sinking suspicion that the one person he was trying to run from would always be right there with him. 

No one followed him. Staggering to a walk, Draco tried not to collapse. He fell to his knees, sword still clasped tightly in his left hand.

What had he done? What the _hell _had he done?

On a plain that seemed to stretch into forever but for a few large pillars, the silver-haired boy raised his head to the night sky and saw the constellation Draco. It mocked him, a beautiful illusion of serenity while it burned up inside.

Voldemort, the sword, the heir, the tomb.

Her face.

God, her face was all he could see.

He could almost hear her sobbing on the tower, he could almost feel the warmth of her skin. Except that he couldn't.

Except that he never would again.

The electric, jet black sword pulsated in his hand. His brain felt ready to explode. He didn't know how long he kneeled there, gazing up at the fake night sky.

As the first sob was wrenched from his throat he felt the world close in around him suddenly, coming to one clear point. Like putting glasses on, the universe sprang into sharp, wounding focus. The stars, beautifully and painfully jagged, alluring as broken glass. The moonlight on the blade, harsh and unrelenting in the night. A veil lifted from his eyes as everything became mercifully, cursedly real for one blinding moment.

And then nothing remained.

* * *

Lupin had Apparated them back to the Forbidden Forest. Harry, bleeding still and covered in sweat and grime, staggered up to the castle with Lupin's help. Dumbledore met them at the entryway. 

"The Infirmary," Dumbledore proclaimed upon seeing Harry. He pulled out a small Portkey that took the three of them directly to the Infirmary.

Hermione sat tightly in a chair, biting her lip and squeezing her eyes shut. Krum sat next to her, head in his hands. Fleur had obviously been detained, and Ernie paced nervously around the room.

When Hermione saw Harry, she launched herself into his arms, unable to stop a sob from escaping her lips.

"I thought you were dead . . ." she whispered in reverence, clinging to his bleeding and filthy frame.

"I'm okay," Harry said, as much to assure himself as to assure her. "I'm okay."

Madame Pomfrey clucked over Harry, easily healing his cuts but insisting that he lay down.

"Harry," Dumbledore said calmly. "Tell me everything."

The Gryffindor took a deep breath. "I was . . . well, Malfoy– we were . . . went . . . there was–"

"If you don't mind, Albus," Lupin cut in swiftly, "I may be better fit to tell you the story right now. Harry is exhausted."

Nodding in relief, Harry sank back into the pillows. Ginny . . . no, he wouldn't think about her.

As Harry drifted off to sleep, he swore that he heard Dumbledore speak.

"Here, at the end of all things, let us begin."

**END OF PART III: SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN **

((**A.N. **So I'm not actually finished writing the story yet, so Part IV may take a while. But the overview: Harry and Voldemort battle for the last time, Harry confronts Ginny about her new status, Hermione gets kidnapped, Draco does something unforgivable, and drama prevails in the darkest, angstiest part yet out of the four. Stay tuned, stay cool, review, happy New Years!))


	31. Resounding Repercussions

((**A.N. **Okay, so it's been six months since I last updated. I'm really sorry about that; now that it's summertime, I'll work obsessively to get the rest of this story posted. You can expect weekly updates from now on, because at least half of Part IV is finished and ready to post. Thanks to everyone who waited patiently; enjoy!))

**PART IV: EVERYTHING I AM**

* * *

_It's not like you to say __**sorry**_

_I was waiting on a different story_

_But this time, I was mistaken_

_for handing you __**a heart worth breaking. **_

– _Nickelback_

* * *

**Chapter 31; **Resounding Repercussions 

Harry awoke groggily the next morning to find himself in the Hospital Wing. All of the company from the night before had disappeared, save Hermione, who sat in the same wooden armchair as the night before. She seemed pale and half-alive; her eyes were rimmed red.

"Morning," she told him heavily. Harry sat up in his bed a little too quickly and scrutinized her.

"Are you alright, Hermione?"

It wasn't just her physical appearance; it was something else he couldn't quite place. She looked as if she hadn't slept at all.

She nodded curtly, trying for a smile but failing.

"No," Harry told her, "you're not okay at all. Hermione, come here."

He beckoned for her to sit on the bed next to him, and like a zombie she moved at his command.

Harry examined her face closely. Her eyes looked terrible, like liquid pain hastily covered in cheap wallpaper. She seemed like she was about to fall apart.

He put a comforting hand on her wrist, but frowned as she winced. On closer examination, both of her wrists had dark, finger shaped bruises on them.

"What did he do to you, Hermione?" Harry asked in a ghastly voice. He _knew _Malfoy had given her those bruises. But he had looked into Draco's eyes, and had been convinced that Draco didn't have the capability or motivation for hurting Hermione. Harry was fairly skilled at Legilimency, but it scared him how wrong he had been about Draco.

Hermione swayed dangerously.

"You need a doctor," Harry pronounced immediately, reaching to feel her forehead. She was cold and clammy.

"Madame Pomfrey already healed me," she told him, shaking her head.

"Not these," Harry pointed out, holding a wrist up to the light.

Hermione shrugged. "I forgot to tell her about those," she said truthfully.

Harry searched for his wand on the bedside table as he said, "Tell me what happened, Hermione."

"He's engaged," was all Hermione managed to choke out, now visibly holding back tears.

Harry paused, touching the wand to her wrist. "He is?"

"To Pansy Parkinson. He's been betrothed to her for two months."

Harry softly recited a healing spell, and the bruises on one of her wrists faded.

"But that's . . . I thought you two . . . "

Hermione nodded. "He said he was only stringing me along in order to . . . get closer to you, so he could lure you away from Hogwarts."

Harry healed her other wrist, and then looked into her eyes. He couldn't heal the bruises behind those. He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, and the gesture reminded him in a searing, painful way of one he had made to Ginny.

In her expression, he saw something that was classically Hermione. He remembered that she hadn't cried a tear the night before, that she had stood up to Malfoy like a true Gryffindor. She had been strong in the past twelve hours, decoding riddles and solving murder mysteries, but it had all been an act. Now he saw that the whole time she had been fighting tears, fighting falling apart.

"You don't have to be strong anymore," Harry told her. Her tightly set, determined face suddenly shattered. He wrapped his arms around her as she sobbed hugely, all the tension from the past twelve hours exploding into her tears. Harry, like most boys, was keenly uncomfortable when girls started to cry, but this was one of his best friends, and she needed him even if she was too stubborn to admit it.

"If I ever get the chance, I'm going to kill him," Harry announced flatly, with a rueful laugh. "He thinks he can get away with hurting you like this, but he's wrong, Hermione. I trusted him and now . . . there's not gonna be any mercy."

"Harry," she gasped between sobs, "I hate him so much . . ."

"I know," Harry whispered, "and I'm going to tear Malfoy to pieces. So would Ron if . . . he was here."

Harry tried to keep his voice even on that one. If there was one thing he regretted about the night before , it was leaving Ron behind. How could he _not _have realized that his best friend had been someone else for the past month? True, he had been gone for three out of the four weeks, but that wasn't an excuse. There _was _no excuse for how ignorant he had been.

He would ask Dumbledore about rescuing Ron later.

Ginny was another matter entirely. The one person he couldn't rescue, the one person he wouldn't be able to save with bravery or conviction, was the one person he wanted to talk to the most. How _could _she be a Death Eater? How could she be working for the man who was trying to murder him? It stung Harry worse than he thought possible. And she was with Blaise Zabini. How could she possibly be dating the boy who had Polyjuiced into her own brother?

Merlin, it was so twisted.

Bitterly, Harry wondered if Ginny had helped Blaise perfect his disguise as Ron, if she had taught him to adopt her brothers expressions and movements and idiosyncracies. That made him sick. That Ginny would betray her own family like that seemed unthinkable.

Had he actually liked that girl?Why did he still worry about her and hope she was not in over her head?

In any case, Harry's work was cut out for him. Malfoy would give Voldemort the sword, and then Harry would have to find a way to defeat Voldemort _and _the sword. It was his own fault, really. Why had he trusted Malfoy, even for a minute? Things Malfoy had said to him ran through his head.

_I'm not going to lie down and lick your boots just because you're Harry Potter and you're famous, got that? _

_Stop acting like a hero . . . you're just a person._

_You and I, Potter, we aren't so different. _

He had thought Malfoy had maybe, possibly changed from the spoiled coward of a few years ago. Now he knew that Malfoy was just the same.

Neither Draco nor Voldemort would receive his mercy now . . . as for Ginny, he wished he could say the same.

* * *

If Remus Lupin had known exactly what the below conversation would entail, he probably wouldn't have gone to Dumbledore's office at all. 

"Yes, Albus, I think that Molly has a right to know that her son is being held captive. I'll send an owl to her and tell her to come to Hogwarts straightaway."

Dumbledore nodded. "There is nothing we can do about Ron for the time being, but I highly doubt that Voldemort will kill him until he gets a hold of Harry again. What we need to concentrate on at this point is a battle plan. I realize that you believe history is going to repeat itself, but we must at least prepare for the possibility that Draco will give the sword to Voldemort."

"That's true," Lupin answered diplomatically. "However unlikely the situation is, we must have a plan. But what could possibly combat the power of Mordred's sword? In Lord Voldemort's hands, it will be the most deadly weapon the world has ever seen."

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed, "we need, in that case, the one object that has opposed Mordred's word in the past. It is the opposite, the antithesis . . ."

"Such an object exists?"

"Of course. It is Excalibur, Remus, the very sword that clashed with Mordred's in the last battle."

Lupin laughed. "You are proposing we find Excalibur, Albus? It has probably been destroyed."

"No," Dumbledore corrected. "I am proposing that _you _find Excalibur. After all, you solved the _last _riddle more thoroughly than I had believed possible."

"Yes," Lupin agreed, "by _luck, _Albus. By pure chance and guesswork. You cannot expect me to find another long lost sword in the same way."

"I do not expect it," Dumbledore answered calmly, "but I ask it of you . . . because right now, it is our only hope. If we can give Harry Excalibur, he may have a chance against Voldemort."

"Understood," Lupin said heavily.

_How did I get twisted up in this sort of thing? _He thought wearily, before exiting the Headmaster's office.

* * *

A week had passed since the incident at Stonehenge, and Draco Malfoy was driving himself up the wall. 

Lucius had welcomed Draco back into the Manor, of course, the morning after he had come in from the confrontation. He had spent a long time on Salisbury Plain that night, silent and wrenched, unsure of what to do with the sword or with himself.

Being a "loving father," (also a greedy and conniving one, admittedly), Lucius had welcomedDraco and the sword warmly into the Manor, in hopes that Draco would come around and give the sword to his father.

Draco's life had commenced as planned, though he had not gone back to Hogwarts since. His father forbadeit. Lucius claimed that Dumbledore would be lurking there, waiting to pounce on Draco and Mordred's blade.

The bloody sword.

He hated it. Word had gotten out everywhere (damn Krum, damn Fleur and her big mouth), and even the Muggles had noticed something was wrong. After all, they had awoken one morning to find that a tomb and stone had appeared miraculously in the center of Stonehenge. Global tension ensued.

In any case, _Witch Weekly, The Daily Prophet, _and other disrespectablesources had sent conspiracy theories flying every which way. No one, admittedly, knew that Draco actually possessed the sword. Thank Merlin for that. Life had returned to normal, for Draco. Sure, he didn't know what to do with the sword yet, but that was in his control. Everything else was completely normal.

One small and slightly problematic complication was that he could not stop thinking– no, obsessing– over Hermione bloody Granger. Filthy mudblood. Stupid bitch.

He was driving himself crazy.

Because he had developed some kind of goddamn guilty conscience.

Breaking it off with Hermione had been unavoidable. For God's sake, he was _engaged, _he couldn't go flouncing around with another girl. It was immoral. Especially when that girl was a low-class Mudblood Gryffindor.

Draco sure as hell didn't want the engagement to Pansy. He didn't like it, but what had Granger expected him to do? Throw away his entire life to elope with her? It was romantic and roguish, certainly, but not logical at all. Draco didn't follow impulses like a Gryffindor. Cold, clear logic ruled his life.

He also had a duty to his family. There was no other Malfoy heir to take care of the estate, tend to the finances. He would marry a Pureblood wife and raise a Pureblood heir if it killed him, because that was what his father had done.

His father had sucked it up. Had Lucius ever really loved Narcissa? He doubted it. But his father had married the girl, done what _his _father expected him to do, whether he wanted it or not. Draco could not defy a thousand years of tradition for one girl. He could not abandon his family for one girl.

But God, he missed her so bad.

He missed the way she bit her lip, the way she brushed her hair away from her face, the way she kissed . . . he missed the sound of her voice most of all. He missed little, mundane things about her he had never even known he liked.

He missed her artless grace, so different from Pansy's measured sashay. He missed the way she was sexy without even knowing it, without even trying.

The bitch.

But he even missed her bitchiness, her sharp tongue, her scathing remarks.

He missed _everything _about her, when it came right down to it. A week of not seeing her face had caused her to appear in his dreams, slippery and hot and . . .

How could a girl do this to him?

He banged his fist angrily against the window. A storm brewed outside . . .

Draco hadn't counted on missing her so badly. He had justified breaking up with Hermione to himself. _My duty is to my family, _he thought. _And besides, if anyone ever found out about our relationship, I'd be punished severely, but it would be nothing compared to what they would do to Granger if they got their hands on her. _

He couldn't put her in danger like that. It was downright selfish. Breaking up with her hadn't been a choice; it had been a necessity.

And yet there was a part of his newfound conscience (damn that conscience, damn it straight to hell), that screamed that what he had handled it all wrong. The things he had said, the way he had treated her played through his head like a bad dream. He had gone too far and he knew that he had hurt her permanently, maybe irreversibly.

Sometimes he could almost hear her crying.

He had hurt her to ensure that she would hate him, that she would never come near him again.

_Also, _he admitted, _to ensure that I would never go near __**her**__ again. _

None of what he had said had been true. He _hadn't _been using her just to get to Harry, he hadn't been engaged to Pansy for two months, the Veritaserum had been all too real.

He didn't want her just for sex, as much as he had tried to convince himself of that fact. He wanted _her, _all of her, her laugh and her eyes and her body and why was he still thinking about that idiot girl?

_Why? _

_Because Draco, you blew your chance, _he told himself. _You shot yourself in the foot purposely. It's better for both of you if you just leave her alone . . . never go near her again. _

With a resigned sigh, Draco realized that he would get over her. It would just take time.

* * *

A week after Harry had been released from the hospital wing, Hermione glanced outside to see a storm cloud on the horizon. The clouds were black and menacing, and thunder crashed in the distance. 

She felt trapped in her stuffy Head Girl dormitory, and decided to take a walk despite the ominous warning signs. Maybe she _wanted _to get drenched. Maybe the rain would wash away her thoughts. Maybe she was too preoccupied to think about the oncoming rainstorm at all. In any case, she found herself slowly making her way outside and onto the grounds.

The greyness of mid-November had begun to seep into the threadwork of the landscape, and the leaves hung silently, reproachfully, from the bony trees. The lake had taken on a spectacularly blue-gray pigment, laced with the silver of the clouds above. Lightning flashed, but did little to brighten the irreversibly mundane scenery that seemed to blend together seamlessly before Hermione's eyes.

The past few days, quite similar to the present scenery, had blended together drearily, had dragged on slowly and painfully for her. She still raised her hand in class, laughed when Harry told a joke (he told so few these days that it was a wonder she laughed at all), bossed around the younger students, and performed her Head Girl duties.

Yes, all was as it had always been for Hermione. Calm, controlled, measured to the point of obsession. She had been acting so normal, actually, that even Harry hadn't noticed anything was out of place.

Because in all honesty, there wasn't.

Thunder crashed more loudly, and Hermione felt the first drops of rain touch her bare arms, stinging the life back into her.

There was nothing wrong. Yes, Ron was being held prisoner at the Malfoy Manor, the Ambassadors had been detained for questioning inside Hogwarts, Ginny had gone over to the dark side, and it was becoming increasingly evident that the final battle between Harry and Voldemort was approaching.

But besides that.

Those things were all wrong, but she could deal with them logically. Harry already had a plan to rescue Ron. The Ambassadors would be sent home as soon as the whole murder mess was cleaned up. Ginny would come around eventually. And Harry would defeat Voldemort. Anything else was unthinkable.

So everybody's problems would all be cleared up in no time. Nothing to worry about.

Rain fell down harder now, and erratic ripples dodged across the lake. The trees swayed hypnotically, beckoning to the storm.

Cold water burned Hermione, washing away the layers of lies she had been telling herself since that night.

She was better. Clearly, she had overreacted the night that One Guy had broken up with her. Clearly, she had let feelings get in the way of what was important. Logically, she never wanted to talk to that One Engaged Guy ever again. Rationally, there was no point in dwelling on anything that had happened between them.

She had never _really _loved him anyway. She just didn't know what love _was_ yet. Obviously, someday she would find someone kinder, smarter, richer (was that possible?), more charming (was that possible either?), with_ blonder _hair, with _greyer _eyes,with a better smirk, and a more heart-melting smile, who was a better dancer, and a better kisser.

She ignored the tightening in her chest. Of course she would find someone better. Someone who loved her, someone who didn't push her around like he did, insult her like he did, kiss her like he did, make her knees go weak and her mouth go dry like he did . . .

She cut off that chain of thought abruptly. Rain poured down into the thirsty ground in earnest now, and drenched her to the bone.

A sudden flashback seared behind her eyes, of pouring rain and hot kisses and drenched bodies intertwining.

Last time it had poured like this, she had shared her first kiss with that One Guy. Closing her eyes, she could almost feel his lips on hers all over again.

Almost, but not quite.

And then it hit her, like an earth-shattering bludgeon, as the scene played over and over in her mind, a heartbreaking film with no sound.

Everything _was _okay, and this was the problem.

She hated it.

She hated being in control, she hated the average life she was living, she hated herself and everyone else.

She hated Draco Malfoy most of all.

Sometimes, when she least expected it, the feeling would sear through her like a hot fire poker, this roiling, sickening feeling of absolute hate for how badly he had hurt her, for how easily he had played her, for how much she had _loved _him.

She wasn't better. She was completely broken up inside. Hermione had barely been able to sleep for the past couple of nights. It was amazing that she hadn't broken down before this, actually. She had been a mess all week.

Yes, broken down. It was happening to her now. She dropped to her knees in the pouring rain, shaking so bad from cold and emotion that she doubted she would be able to stand up.

What had happened to strong, capable Hermione? Why was she sobbing her eyes out–again– over some boy? What had happened to unbreakable, passionate Hermione? Had he taken that away too? What had happened to cool, logical, in-control Hermione? Why couldn't she stop crying?

Anger at her own weakness merely made her more hysterical. She gazed up at the passionless sky and wished desperately, searingly, persistently, that she had never known him at all.

She looked back down at the saturated earth, sobbing hugely. And suddenly a pale something flickered into her vision. It was a hand.

A pale, immaculately groomed hand was proffered to her as she looked up.

* * *

Draco made his way to the balcony as it started to sprinkle lightly. 

Did that bint even realize what she had done to him? Draco realized that he had been wrong.

Yes, wrong! He had misjudged his feelings for her. Never in a million years had he believed he could miss her this badly. It had been hard to let her go, but he told himself he'd get over her, just like he had gotten over every other girl he had ever dated. Give it a week and he'd forget Hermione Granger ever existed.

What it came down to was that he _couldn't _let her go. He tried his hardest, so hard that he had overdone it to ensure she would never speak to him again.

But it had been a week, and he missed her so much that it burned the back of his throat sometimes.

_Outrageously. That's the perfect word. I miss her outrageously. _

Draco made a split second decision– he had to see her and apologize. He didn't expect her to forgive him, but if he didn't lay his eyes on the girl soon, he felt as if he would explode.

The rain pounded down around him, grey and relentless and single-minded.

Hermione was not his fiancé. Hermione was a Gryffindor. Hermione was Harry's best friend, but he couldn't have cared less.

He had _tried _to care, tried to push her away, but it hadn't worked. Now he found himself crawling back to her, heedless of pride and blood and family.

God, look what she'd done now.

He reached out a pale hand into the rain, as he had seen her do the day in Beauxbatons when he had first kissed her, and was surprised as someone grasped it.

* * *

Without thinking, Hermione grasped the hand in front of her, and as she was pulled up she took in blond hair, pale eyes, expensive clothing. 

It was Jaime.

Disappointment flooded through her, quickly clipped away.

Disappointment, and then relief.

Because Hermione never wanted to see his face again.

* * *

Draco, not daring to hope, whirled around. 

Pansy stood there, pretty in the grey light, his perfect Pureblood fiancé.

"Pansy– what are you doing here?"

"Don't look so upset," Pansy chided mildly, "there were no classes today, so I decided to come see you. Now come inside, you're going to get sick."

She kissed his forehead lightly, and a shiver of guilt ran down his spine. It was obvious that Pansy was really trying to make their relationship work, even though it had been forced upon them both.

"How would you like some hot chocolate?" she asked him, and squeezed his hand.

Draco appreciated her in that moment, more than he ever had.

"I would love some hot chocolate," he answered with a small but genuine smile.

Not quite as much, however, as he would have liked to see a pair of chocolate brown eyes . . .


	32. Settling the Score

((**A.N. **Hello, everyone. New chapter weekly, like I promised. This is another Draco/Hermione centric chapter, even more than the last one. Next chapter we'll pick up some of the other subplots I've been neglecting, I promise. Hope you enjoy this!))

**PART IV: EVERYTHING I AM**

* * *

_There is no revenge so complete as __**forgiveness.**_

_- Josh Billings_

* * *

**Chapter 32; **Settling the Score

Two nights later, Draco stood resolutely outside of the Head Girl dormitory at Hogwarts. He had gotten into the school without much trouble, in spite of having a sword strung through his belt. The defense mechanisms of Hogwarts had been created to identify staff and students. Draco was, no matter what else, still a student of Hogwarts.

He couldn't believe he was doing this. Coming to apologize? He didn't know if he could do it . . . it might be anatomically impossible for a Malfoy to say he was sorry.

He knocked hard on the portrait hole, and opened his mouth to say something, but then decided against it. His heart pounded incessantly . . . no girl had ever made him this nervous.

And then suddenly it had happened. The portrait swung open and Hermione stood there, dressed in a white night shirt and matching cords, her hair damp and freshly washed. Draco just stared; she was even better than he remembered.

When she realized who it was, she looked dangerously close to fainting for a moment. All the color drained out of her features. Then anger flared in her eyes and she slammed the door in his face.

He had expected this. He heard her mutter every locking charm she could think of on the other side of the door.

He knocked again. "For Merlin's sake, Granger, open the door."

No answer.

"I want to . . . I need to talk to you. C'mon!"

No movement. No answer.

"Please let me in. I'm not going to hurt you, Granger. I just want to talk. Please."

Dead silence.

He leaned his head against the door, already exhausted by his own emotions. She really wasn't going to let him in.

He tried her old password, but obviously she had been smart enough to change it since he had last been in her room.

It only left him one choice, really.

"Accio Firebolt," he said with a wave of his wand.

After a few excruciating minutes, the Firebolt slapped into his hand. He then made his way quickly to the balcony of the Astronomy Tower. Mounting the broom, he soared around the castle until he came to the window of Hermione's Head Girl dormitory. He peered inside. Hermione sat on the edge of her bed, back facing the window. She didn't appear to be crying, but her head was in her hands and she was bent almost double.

Before he could second guess himself, Draco backed up his broom and aimed it directly at the window. He slammed into it with full force, throwing his arm over his face as it shattered inward.

He landed ungracefully on the floor of her room, thankful that he had worn mostly thick clothing. Hermione screamed and backed away in shock.

Draco stood up nonchalantly and brushed broken glass off of himself. He proceeded to 'reparo' the window, and then turned to Hermione.

"You should've just opened the door," he chastised softly. "You're too damn stubborn sometimes, Granger."

Her eyes glowed with anger. "Get out," she hissed, drawing her wand in a flash and advancing on him.

"I just want you to listen to me," Draco said in an appeasing manner, holding his hands up.

"I don't want to hear it," Hermione snapped, her voice tight and controlled. "Get out of here, Draco. I'm not afraid to hex you."

"It wouldn't hurt me if you did," Draco told her softly. "The sword has made me almost invincible."

Her eyes flickered with uncertainty at this, but anger quickly overtook her features. "You have _no right _to be in my room like this. I don't want you here. How dare you think . . . after what you did . . .?"

"That's what I wanted to talk about," Draco started reasonably.

"Get out _now _or I'll just start screaming and not stop until someone comes!" she cried dangerously.

"Look," Draco began, "I just wanted to say that I'm . . ."

She about-faced abruptly, speaking in a loud voice, "I'm not listening . . . go home to your fucking Pureblood fiancee."

"Granger!" Draco cried rawly, fed up. Why was she being so hard-headed? He crossed the room in less than a moment and whirled her around by the shoulders. "Shut up for five seconds and just _listen to me! _I mean it!"

She was absolutely trembling with rage and hysteria and maybe even fear. "Let. Go."

He let go of her, but seeing no other choice, he whipped out his wand and yelled, "Impedimentia!"

Hermione froze on the spot, glaring heatedly at him. There was pure loathing in that glare, and he wished he could say it didn't hurt him.

"Sorry about having to do that," he said softly, "but there's no other way to get you to listen to me. I need you to hold still for just a few minutes."

He surveyed her silently for a moment before beginning.

"I'll start off by informing you that you've utterly ruined my life," he said, quietly, anger evident behind his voice. "It's your fault, Granger, that I'm not home right now with my . . . _fucking Pureblood fiancee, _as you so eloquently put it."

It was weird that Hermione didn't talk back like she usually did.

"I came all the way to Hogwarts against my father's wishes _just _to talk to you and then you slam the door in my face. You're such a jerk," he told her, and shook his head.

He paced back and forth, ignoring the look of pure disdain she was directing at him.

"You're probably mad at me . . ." he trailed off with a bitter laugh. "God, what am I saying? You're furious, and you have every right to be. You're probably wondering why I'm here. I didn't . . . you know, plan on coming here. Actually, talking to you is the last thing I ever thought I'd do. But the hell with it, Granger, here I am."

He stopped and looked at her, but the black, heated glare hadn't softened.

"I know you're probably not going to believe this, but . . . none of the things I said to you that night were true. Pansy and I . . . we are engaged, but I only found out a few days ago. Yeah, my relationship with you started off as a way to get closer to Potter, or so I told myself . . . but then everything got real. I actually liked you, wanted to spend time with you . . . God, it almost killed me to admit that to myself. It scared me. Then came my betrothal to Pansy. I had no choice in that, Granger. No choice. I'm not using that as an excuse for what I did to you, but I just wanted you to know."

He fiddled nervously with the sword at his belt now. It had become a habit.

"I decided I had to stop spending time with you. Anything else would have been unfair to you and Pansy. I have a duty to my family, Granger . . . can you understand how important that is to me? I'm my father's only son . . . if I don't raise a Pureblood heir and take care of the Manor, no one else will. I have a legacy to live up to, and . . . whatever anyone says, I owe it to my family to do what they have always expected of me. You're an only child. Do you get that, sort of?"

He ran a hand through his hair, and pressed an open palm to his forehead.

"Besides, if anyone found out that I was with you, they wouldn't punish me, Granger . . . it would be _you _they would make an example of. And I . . .caredtoo much about you to let that happen. I realized it was selfish to be with you, and that it would be better for both of us if I just left you alone."

He sat down on her bed before he realized she probably didn't want him doing that.

"And so I was terrible to you that night. At the time, I justified it by telling myself it was the only way to ensure I wouldn't be able to come back to you. To ensure that you'd hate me forever, that you'd never let me near you again."

She gave him a 'well-look-where-you-are-now' sort of glare. He almost laughed.

He stepped closer to her motionless form, and saw, for a moment, the glimmer of fear she tried so hard to hide. It almost physically hurt him, to see that fear.

"Why are you afraid of me, Granger?" he asked, and for a split second his whole face had opened up with vulnerability. He realized that she had every reason to be afraid of him.

He reached out and brushed his thumb, feather-soft, across her cheek, across the exact place where he had struck her. "I still see a shadow of a bruise there," his voice had dropped to a whisper. "I don't ever think it will go away . . . at least not for me."

Her eyes did not hold any sadness or shame or understanding; on the contrary, they looked quite blank.

"I realize that what I did was wrong, even if it was to protect you. How I treated you . . . was awful. So, in any case, my plan worked for a week. I stayed away from you, the engagement went as planned, you stayed away from me, and everything was okay. Expect for the tiny, minuscule fact that I almost clawed my own eyes out from missing you so bad."

She looked slightly taken aback at that, but he plowed on.

"I realized that despite everything I'd done, I was wrong. I care about you too much to let you go. Now it doesn't matter to me that it's selfish, that it's illogical. I've been so stupid, Granger. I do care about you. It just isn't . . . you know . . . it's not like in the fairy tales, where the prince realizes he loves the princess in one bright, blinding realization. It took me not having you to realize I couldn't . . . live without you. That's right, I can't live without you. Do you have _any idea _how hard that is for me to admit? This is reality, Granger, and I'm not perfect and I didn't know what I wanted, but now . . . now I do. I still think you're a stuck-up bitch– don't look at me like that, Granger!– and a hypocritical know-it-all, but right now there's nothing in this world I want more. I need you to yell at me, because if that's the only way you'll let me hear your voice, I'll take it."

He had been talking rapidly and halted for a moment to take a breath.

"I'm not here to ask your forgiveness, because I know I don't deserve it and I know I'm not going to get it. I can see it in your eyes, Granger . . . I hurt you badly and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

At last, he lifted the enchantment from her. He was surprised when the first thing that came out of her mouth was a light laugh.

"What a _touching _speech," she sneered apathetically, "but let me get this straight. You make me fall for you harder than I've ever fallen for anyone in my life, and then you dump me for some . . . _noble _reason like duty or my protection or somesuch, and then you . . . what?" She laughed again here, and Draco's heart sank. "You come back a week later to profess your undying love for me?" The next part was quiet, venomous. "And you really, honestly expect me to believe you?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Yeah . . . yeah, I do."

He saw her hand coming before it happened, but he didn't stop it. She smacked him across the face, and Hermione Granger hardly qualified as a weak girl. It _hurt. _

"Let me translate your utter . . . bullshit . . . into the truth," she continued softly. "You knew a war between Muggles and Wizards was coming, you knew the outcome of the war, you _knew _that Muggle-borns like me would be enslaved or killed. And guess what, Draco Malfoy? You were afraid. You were afraid of becoming attached to a Muggle-born, because you knew I would have to die. So you know what you did? You gave it all away before you could lose it. You got rid of me like a dog that you might one day have to put to sleep. And meanwhile, you wanted to conform– mindlessly, might I add– to the life you'd always been expected to live. You didn't want to disappoint your father, you didn't want to _cry _when I _died, _so you pushed me as far away as you could. You try to make it sound noble and chivalrous that you broke my heart, but I can see the real reasons in your eyes. You're pathetically weak."

"No, Granger, that's not–"

"Yes it is," she snapped ruthlessly. "Don't you _dare _think I can't see it when you lie, Draco Malfoy."

"It was wrong of me, then," he conceded softly. "I'm sorry. I don't expect you to forgive me."

She seemed to be trembling from head to toe with anger, but now all the fierceness went out of her. Very suddenly, as if a light had come on, she smiled.

"You know what, Draco?" she said softly. "I forgive you."

Relief.

Blinding, crippling, white-hot waves of relief crashed down upon him. He honestly hadn't expected her forgiveness. There was nothing in the _world, _he realized, that he wanted more. Draco moved toward her to sweep her into his arms, but frowned as she backed away.

"Don't touch me," she admonished, voice low and passionless. Hermione pointed toward the door. "Get out."

"But Granger, you said . . ."

"I said that I'll forgive you for everything you've done to me. That's right, I won't hold it against you. But God, Draco . . . do you think I'll ever forget? Just because I forgive you doesn't mean I'll love you again."

Her words seared through him. _Anything, _he thought desperately. _She could have said anything but that. _

"What do you want me to say, Granger? What do you want me to do? I'll give the sword to Dumbledore– anything–"

"Draco, look at me," Hermione said softly. Their eyes met, desperation behind his, apathetic ruthlessness behind hers. She spoke. "It's not like you can _do _something to change my mind. I've forgiven you, but I still hate you, because forgetting is impossible. I don't love you. I'm sorry . . . honestly, I am. I wish things had worked out differently between us."

Was it possible to die from a mere succession of syllables?

"You loved me, once," Draco told her desperately. "It hasn't gone away."

"No," Hermione corrected sadly, shaking her head. "I loved what I thought I saw in you. The boy I loved was just a phantom, an illusion. You shattered that illusion yourself. The boy I loved . . . he was just a lie."

Her words were not tearful or nostalgic; they were cutting and passionless.

"Do you want to know why I lied to you?" Draco started, soft and direct. "I lied because the thought of _you_ is the only thing that allows me to sleep at night. I lied to you because the sound of your voice is the only thing that clears the impenetrable fog from my head." His voice was strong and clear as it rose. "I lied to you because out of all the people of I have ever met, you are the _only one _who can dance the cha-cha just as well as me! I lied to you because sometimes . . ." his voice got soft and almost broke at this point, "sometimes when I kiss you, you make this silly sound somewhere between a squeak and a groan and there is nothing in the whole world I like to hear more. I lied to you because when you're in danger I can't relax and because I shiver when I hear your name and because you drive me crazy with the way you bite your lip and because when I was home and I looked up at the stars at night I _prayed _you were looking at them too! I miss you so bad, Granger. I _do _play around with girls, okay? I _am _a Death Eater, alright? Yeah, I lied to you, but only because I couldn't stand the thought of you hating me! And I hurt you for your own protection . . . I hope you realize that someday."

Hermione looked up at him with equal measures of shock and profound sadness. They were both silent for a moment, and Draco was breathing heavily.

"It's not that you lied to me, Draco," she told him after a moment. "It's that I no longer want to believe you."

He felt as if he'd been bludgeoned in the head. _She doesn't care about me anymore, _he realized. _She really doesn't care. _He hadn't considered that possibility at all. Now, hurt sank in.

And suddenly, very suddenly, Draco Malfoy discovered what it felt like to be rejected.

Sensing Draco's realization (Hermione was a perceptive girl, after all), she put her hand on his wrist and drew him closer. She still had a score to settle.

Hope surged within Draco. Perhaps she had changed her mind.

She placed her lips on his mouth and kissed him thoroughly and expertly. Hermione knew exactly what he liked, and it was probably the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted. When Hermione had had enough, she pulled away.

Draco opened his eyes and looked at her. She seemed totally unaffected, and with a shock he realized she hadn't even meant the kiss, hadn't even wanted it.

And he realized how she must have felt when he had kissed her that night and not meant it.

Angry. Foolish. Embarrassed.

"Did you like that, Draco?" Hermione asked coolly, raising an eyebrow.

"I wish more than anything that I hadn't," he told her, despair evident in his voice. "Granger. . ."

He spoke to her in a voice she'd never heard. It was almost desperate and pitiful. Hermione only smiled softly.

"Don't beg, Draco," she sneered. "It's beneath you."

The mockery of his words worked just like it was supposed to. Draco had never cried over a girl in his life, but this was the closest he had ever come.

She raised her eyebrows imperiously and pointed toward the door. "Now please get out of my room."

Unquestionable hurt flashed through Draco's eyes. That she had talked to him like that, kissed him like that . . . and he had thought she meant it! That bitch. Hurt quickly crystallized into anger. He whirled around and headed for the door. He stopped, back to her. "If this is how it's going to be, Granger, then I'm sorry. Potter is going to die. I'm giving the sword to Voldemort, and that will be the end of the war. Voldemort will kill him."

He didn't see Hermione's shocked expression.

"I have some advice for you. When Voldemort takes over, stick with Dumbledore or Weasley, and then Apparate to the most obscure location you can think of. They will be looking for you. If they catch you . . .they'll make you into a slave, which for a girl is probably worse than getting killed."

He said this all very dispassionately.

"Don't get caught, Granger. Contact your parents to warn them if you can. Muggles will be killed on sight. I'm sorry you're not a Pureblood."

That sounded sincere. He didn't see the tears sting her eyes at those words.

"I don't need your advice," she snarled. "I don't need any help at all."

"Good," Draco answered sadly, "because after tonight, I'm not going to help you any more. You're on your own, Granger, and I doubt anyone else on my side will spare you a second thought."

His voice lacked the usual cruelty. It sounded, by contrast, hollow and defeated.

"_Nunc scio quit sit amor_," he told her softly as he opened the door.

"What?" she asked, unschooled in Latin.

His last words were so quiet that she could barely hear them.

"Means, 'Now I know what love is.'"


	33. Probably Pointless and Predominantly

((**A.N. **Here's the next chapter; sorry for any typos, I'm in a rush. Thank you reviewers! Hope you like it. Draco and Hermione take a backseat for awhile, sort of. I'll be out of town for the next week, so don't expect an update on the usual day; it might be a little later. Enjoy!))

**PART IV: EVERYTHING I AM**

* * *

_And by the water's side, the tall grass where we lied_

_The nights we cried ourselves to sleep_

_In your world somewhere, do memories rip and tear_

_The ones that always keep you hanging on to all that __**might have been**_

_And I love you now_

_And I hate you now_

_And I __**miss you **__most of all . . ._

_Fuel_

* * *

**Chapter 33**; Probably Pointless and Predominantly Precarious Power Plays 

Harry was on his way to Transfigurations (it was amazing that normal classes continued while the world outside was steadily crumbling), when he saw it. An unmistakable flash of red.

"Ginny!" he cried, whirling after her and around the corner. She had been doing a very good job of avoiding him. "Gin!"

She didn't turn around, only continued walking faster.

He caught up with her quickly, made to grab her wrist, thought better of it.

"I want to talk to you," he said breathlessly, hurrying to keep up with her.

"I have nothing to say," she told him simply. Her stride was determinedly unbroken.

"Gin, how could you . . ." he had thought about what he was going to say before this, but now the words stuck in his throat. "How could you . . . go over to his side when Voldemort wants to kill your whole family?"

"Harry," she whirled around at last, obviously trying to maintain composure. She was so fiercely _Ginny, _standing defiantly in the empty corridor in her school robes, exuding almost as much power as Harry himself. "Just leave me alone. Maybe someday I'll be able to explain this whole complicated mess to you, but right now . . . I just can't do it, okay?"

He dropped his hand and stared at her in shock. Waves of hysteria came off of the girl, and yet she still looked ready to hex him.

"Can you understand that, Harry?" she continued weakly. "I just need you to leave me alone."

And with that she turned and strode down the hall, never looking back.

Harry almost let her go. Almost.

"Gin!" he lunged after her and blocked her path. "I _can't _leave you alone! Don't you get it? You're in over your head with Zabini and Lucius and Voldemort. You have _no idea _what they're capable of!"

She blanched at that one, somewhere between a scornful laugh and a sob. "Oh, you're _right, _Mr. Hero. I have _no idea _what Voldemort is capable of . . . he only invaded my every thought, possessed me completely, for _three and a half _bloody months! Get off your high horse, Harry! I know exactly what they're all capable of, thank you very much, and I can take care of myself!"

"No you can't," Harry realized in a soft voice.

She looked ready to smack him.

"That day on the train back to Hogwarts," Harry deduced, "the bruise on your cheek that Hermione healed . . . that was from Blaise, wasn't it?"

Ginny gasped; her whole face contorted in pain. "How dare you! Do you honestly think . . . do you really think I would put up with an abusive boyfriend? Do you think I'm that pathetic . . . that desperate? My bruise that day was from some stranger in the crowd, Harry. Blaise and I are _nothing_ like that. It's so like you to assume that he would treat me badly just because he's a Slytherin."

It was true. Blaise had never even raised his voice to her. He seemed to genuinely like her.

She found that Harry's eyes were locked on her. He looked remorseful.

"I'm sorry, Gin. I shouldn't have jumped to that conclusion. But I dunno, it was just, that night . . . the way he held you. It was like he owned you or something, like he didn't even want you to look at me. It was just this feeling I got."

"Well, you were wrong," she said tightly, although the words troubled her a little.

"You know I'm not, though," Harry read her expression flawlessly.

"How dare you try to tell me who I can and can't date?" she gasped indignantly. "I'm tired of you trying to control me, Harry Potter. Blaise is . . . he's so much more than you could be."

Harry couldn't remember _ever _being told that.

"Damn it, Ginny," he swore loudly. "I already had one of my best friends hurt by some Slytherin bastard . . . I don't want it happening again."

"I guess you've been tuning me out this whole time," she announced loudly, "because I told you that I could take care of myself."

"How do you think Ron would feel about this?" Harry asked swiftly. "His little sister, dating the boy who has been Polyjuicing into him for the past few months?"

Ginny whirled around so violently that she almost stumbled. Instinctively, Harry reached out a hand to steady her, but she smacked it away and took off down the corridor.

This time, he let her go.

* * *

Draco shut the door to Hermione's room, and was alone in the hallway. 

Something was wrong with his chest.

It was tightening like a balloon being blown up, tighter and tighter until any moment he was sure it would 'pop'.

Something was happening to his eyes as well. He found himself blinking furiously to keep his vision from blurring. Would he need glasses like Potter?

He strode down the corridor, faster, faster, his mind whirling in time with his feet.

There was a crash, and Draco found himself toppled to the ground. Someone groaned. He looked up to find Harry Potter leaning heavily against the wall. As Harry's vision cleared, his eyes narrowed.

"Malfoy."

It was a hiss of deepest loathing.

Draco scrabbled up. Harry's eyes were burning into his, fiery and unrelenting and scary as hell.

Before Draco could react, Harry whipped out his wand and yelled, "_Crucio!_"

The spell flew at him, but a hot blue orb of light surrounded Draco momentarily. Harry's spell did nothing.

The grey-eyed boy unsheathed his sword and pointed it at Harry. The black blade seemed to quiver in anticipation.

"Don't you _dare,_" Draco breathed dangerously, "try that again. Because all I have to do is _think _it– that's right, Potter– all I have to do is _think _it, and you're dead."

"You asshole," Harry growled softly, "do you have _any idea _how bad you hurt Hermione?"

Draco responded with a harsh laugh. "She didn't seem all that upset when I went into her room, Potter. Actually, she told me to 'sod off' in not so many words."

"You . . . what?" Harry asked. "Went in her room?"

"Yeah, I did. Apologized and all that rot– profusely, mind you– but it didn't do any good. She hates me and now I hate her too."

Harry did a mental double-take. "You? Apologized? I don't believe it."

"Well, start believing it," Draco growled. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some important business to attend to that involves your impending doom."

Draco dropped the sword to his side and walked away.

"Malfoy," Harry called. It was sharp, commanding. Draco stopped. It was a moment before Harry spoke.

"Watch . . . watch out for Ginny, will you?"

Draco laughed. "And why would you want _me _to watch out for that stupid girl?"

"Because I can't do it myself," Harry told him truthfully. "Because I love her."

Draco turned around slowly to face Harry, his eyes shining dark, dark grey. They seemed blank and heedless as he whispered, "I don't believe in love."

And for the first time ever, Harry was truly scared of Draco Malfoy.

As Draco strode down the corridor and away from Harry, a sensation like ice water washed over him.

_That bitch. _

He had come to her room, spilled his soul to her, apologized with every ounce of conscience and morality he had, and she had pushed him aside like a limp rag doll.

No one– _no one_– treated a Malfoy like that and got away with it. He wasn't just someone to be rejected.

Frigid autumn air hit his face as he exited the castle.

_I __**hate**__ her. _

He couldn't care less if she died in the war with Potter and all her self-righteous friends. If he met her somewhere along the way, he wasn't going to give her mercy.

In all honesty, Draco _would _have handed the sword to Dumbledore if it had made Hermione come back to him. But without her, there was nothing for him on that side.

He would give the sword to Voldemort. He would marry Pansy. He would become influential. He would watch the Muggle world burn to the ground without one shred of remorse.

Yes. That was his plan. It would reap maximum benefits and did not require any work at all on his part.

He completely and absolutely refused to acknowledge the roiling, blackened feeling bubbling just under the surface, that would no doubt overtake him when he realized that his plan entailed living an entire life without Hermione Granger.

* * *

Harry slammed the door of Dumbledore's office shut so violently that the paintings nearby cried out in alarm. 

"Watch it, boy!"

"What are you thinking?!"

Hermione, who had been leaning dejectedly against the wall, straightened up. It was mid-November, two days since Draco had visited Hogwarts.

"What did he say?" Hermione asked tentatively.

Harry slammed his hand against the wall and swore profusely at the floor.

"Harry," she admonished sharply.

Visibly bringing himself under control, Harry sighed and looked up at her.

"Dumbledore told me that rescuing Ron is not on the top of our priority list. Since Malfoy is going to give the sword to Voldemort, we must focus all our attention on getting the counter weapon and preparing for a defensive battle."

"You can't be serious," Hermione interjected at last. "You're saying that Dumbledore doesn't want to put the time into rescuing Ron? He's just going to leave Ron . . . sitting there . . . in the Malfoy Manor?"

"Yes," Harry assured her, "and he says that even if we did have the time to rescue Ron, there's no way we'd have the manpower to infiltrate the Malfoy Manor, which has become Voldemort's new home base."

"We could just sneak in!" Hermione cried indignantly. "It wouldn't be that hard. Don't look at me like that, Harry. Have you learned nothing from Defense Against the Dark Arts in the past seven years? I could break the wards around the Manor easily if I only knew what they were!"

"Well, how are we supposed to figure that out?"

Hermione leaned back against the wall as her eyes fogged over. She was silent for almost a minute, but Harry knew better than to say anything while she was thinking.

"Maybe . . ." she started, "maybe we don't _need _to know what the wards are. Maybe all we need to know is how vain the Malfoys are."

"_What?_"

"I've got a plan for breaking into the Manor. It's going to take some designing, but . . . let's just say that the Malfoys will never see it coming."

* * *

Twilight had fallen. 

The Malfoy Manor stood grey and foreboding in the dim evening afterglow. It was artless and bereft of any passion. The turrets rose up into the bluish-grey span of sky, sucking the very spontaneity out of the air around them.

Why was it that the Manor appeared so lifeless?

Perhaps the animals and plants had become aware of the new presence emanating from the building, sickly and icy as midnight dew.

Despite evidence to the contrary, the Manor bustled quietly with life. A dark undercurrent shivered through the stones, because Lord Voldemort had arrived. He planned to make Malfoy Manor his new base of operation. After all, he had to begin somewhere, and what better place to start than at the residence of his right-hand man?

Hence, the Manor was alive with movement.

Draco Malfoy sat, unnoticed by all, on the roof. He had always climbed up onto the turrets as a child, trying to get away from his father.

Now, at age seventeen, he was more accurately trying to get away from his life.

He held up the sword in his hand, examining the piece of metal in the eerily starless twilight. The deep onyx luster of the blade reminded him of the pearl he had purchased for Hermione in France a hundred million years ago.

Everything reminded him of Hermione.

He examined the runic engravings on the side of the blade. The language was indecipherable, but Draco knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what the words meant.

_For everything I could not be._

How did he know? It had come to him once in a vision and once in a dream.

He knew it had been Slytherin's sword. What did the engraving mean? Was he, Draco Malfoy, everything Slytherin was not?

Slytherin (or Mordred, if you like), had betrayed his father, his country, and his kingdom.

Draco would not, ultimately, make the same mistake. History would not repeat itself, because Draco would be loyal to his father and his kingdom.

The sword had been good to him for the few weeks he had possessed it. He had killed a bird in flight merely by thinking about it, and was curious as to whether this power extended to humans as well. It protected him unfailingly, and when he wielded the blade, he felt an electric undercurrent jolt him to life. But there was always this voice in his head (he could swear the sword had a mind of its own), urging him to give the sword to Voldemort.

He wanted to. Or did the sword want him to? Did Slytherin live on, somehow, in the sword?

Handing to sword over to Voldemort would no doubt improve his rank and trustworthiness. He would even, perhaps, surpass his father in the long run. Yes, giving the sword to the Dark Lord seemed to be the best option. His move would sway the war.

_But what about all the people he's going to kill with the sword? What about them? _came Hermione's voice in his head. He immediately shut off that train of thought. He had to.

So he stood up, gazing down upon all that was his, or at least all that he would own someday. He would soon have a mansion, a wife, and high-ranking position in Voldemort's court. His eyes looked nearly black as he stared out at the faceless twilight that threatened to recede into darkness.

Draco did something he had never even believed possible.

He let her go.

* * *

Hermione leaned her head wearily on the table in front of her. "I wish Ron were here to help us plan this," she said, somewhat amused at the irony. 

Harry, across the table from her in the common room, took off his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. It was past midnight and they still worked on the plan to sneak into the Malfoy Manor.

"Malfoy's really going to do it," Harry spoke up suddenly. His voice sounded hoarse and weary. "He is really going to give Voldemort the sword."

"I don't believe that," Hermione intoned evenly. "Draco's not st–"

"Why do you still call him Draco?"

"He's not stupid. He knows the consequences of giving the sword to Voldemort. He knows that Voldemort will use the power of the sword to kill every Muggle he can get his hands on. I don't think Draco is willing to condemn thousands of Muggles to death."

"You called him Draco again."

"Harry, _listen _to me."

"You don't think Malfoy is capable of that sort of cruelty? Well I'm sorry to break it to you, Hermione, but he is. Everything he has done– to you, to me, it all suggests that has no sense of morality. That's the difference between us and him, Hermione. He's got something important, some moral compass, missing inside of him . . . can't you see that?"

"No. I can't."

"Hermione–"

"I hate him more than you hate him, Harry. And yet I can still see that he's not completely heartless."

Harry sighed and glanced out the window. "I hope you're right. At the same time, I know you're wrong."

* * *

"Why the sudden change of heart, Draco?" 

Draco knelt silently in front of the Dark Lord. When he spoke, it was with calculated deference and awe.

"I was never in doubt of who the sword rightfully belonged to. You, of course, my Lord. However, I did not want to anger my father, who also pressed me to give him the sword."

"Lucius asked for the sword also?"

"No doubt so that he could give it to you immediately, my Lord."

"Perhaps this is true. What bothers me, Draco, is that you seem to have had trouble deciding who the sword would go to; your father or myself. Who are you really loyal to?"

"I will not lie to you, my Lord. I am as loyal to the Malfoy name as I am to you."

"It is wise of you not to lie to me. Several fools attempt it every day, and they find themselves under Crucio until they spit out the truth. You are a powerful wizard, Draco, perhaps more talented than your father. You are also intelligent, far more than I have given you credit for. However, you need to decide where your loyalties lie. Because once you are in my service, nothing can or _will_ get in the way."

"I understand."

"Can you fathom the amount of power I will give you, for the mere price of that sword? Hand me the sword now, and you will have everything. _Anything_."

_If only that were true,_ Draco couldn't help but think.

He unsheathed the sword, which shone black in the firelight and seemed to suck away the light around it.

Then he handed it, hilt first, to Voldemort.

Later that evening, Dumbledore received an urgent message from Professor Severus Snape.

_Draco Malfoy has presented Lord Voldemort with the sword. The Dark Lord is going to attack London tomorrow. The war is on, Albus. Alert the Order. _

_-SS_


	34. Vivacious Visitations

((**A.N. **Sorry about that lapse between updates... I got a little bit wrapped up in DH, wallowed in depression, reread whole series, watched all the movies, it was pretty pathetic. :( Okay I'm better now though, and here is your update. Enjoy!))

**PART IV: EVERYTHING I AM**

* * *

_You would kill for this_

_Just a little bit_

– _Straylight Run_

* * *

**Chapter 34**; Vivacious Visitations

Lucius Malfoy looked up as he heard a rapid and urgent knock on the drawing room door. He glanced briefly at the Ministry official sitting in the armchair next to him, and set down the glass of amber liquid in his hands.

"Come in," he called testily. Now was not a time he wished to be disturbed.

His irritation increased as he identified the intruder as Marlee, the head maid of the Manor. She clutched her skirts nervously as she entered, and bowed briefly as he rose to meet her.

"You idiot woman," he hissed, too softly for the Ministry delegate to hear, "what is so important that it could not possibly be addressed _after _I finished negotiations with the ambassador from the Ministry?"

"Well, sir, it is rather important, sir . . ."

She looked unreasonably nervous. Lucius narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Get on with it, you foolish girl."

"I need you to turn off the wards surrounding the Manor, sir."

"The wards? Why would I do that? Those are the only devices in place that allow us to detect intruders . . ."

"Exactly, sir. You see, sir, it seems that they require routine maintenance, and the Charms expert is here right now, as you ordered, ready to fix any broken wards. He needs you to turn them off, sir, in order for this to be possible."

"Why couldn't this have waited?"

"You yourself told us that you had intelligence, sir, of an attack coming later tonight. We must have the wards in place before then, sir. So you're required to come outside and turn them off . . ."

"I'm too busy to be bothered with this ridiculous matter, can't you see that? Here, take the master key and use it to shut the wards off yourself, you lazy fool . . . now away with you!"

The woman, trembling, took the key from his hands and scurried out of the room with a nod of assent. Lucius turned back to the Ministry official with a practiced smile.

"I am deeply sorry, my friend, you know how pesky servants can be . . ."

* * *

Harry repressed a violent shiver as he watched his breath stream out in front of him, misty and pearlescent in the dark night. He peered anxiously again over the hedge and at the huge building that reared before him.

_Why is Hermione taking so long? Hasn't she gotten the key yet? What if something has gone horribly wrong? What if they caught her?_

For the fiftieth time that night, he second guessed their plan. He and Hermione had ambushed the unsuspecting maid as she walked back to the servant's quarters (separate from the mansion itself, of course), and Hermione had Polyjuiced into the maid and walked directly into the Manor. The wards, of course, recognized the maid and did not cause Hermione any harm. Now it was only a matter of obtaining the key from Lucius and shutting off the wards long enough for Harry to get in and all three of them to get out.

Suddenly he noticed a disturbance around the edges of the Manor. Harry sensed it more than saw it; a delicate change in the quality of the air, a slight waver in the coloring of the stone. He _knew. _The wards had been turned off.

Hidden under the invisibility cloak, he crept into the open and slowly, silently worked his way toward the Manor. He came closer, closer . . . and passed through the open door without the slightest trouble.

In the corridor he met the "maid," wringing her skirts nervously and peering every so often out the window. He slipped off the invisibility cloak and smiled at her. "You did it."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "I wasn't sure I'd turned all the wards off."

"Now you tell me." Harry scrunched his face and said, "Turn the wards back on. We don't need to get through them again until we've got Ron with us. Where do you think they're keeping him?"

"The dungeons, I would expect. If not there, then somewhere less obvious but also less protected. Wherever it is, we need to find it fast. I've only got about fifteen minutes left in this disguise, and besides, I've got horrible news."

"Is now really the time? C'mon, let's at least start walking."

Harry draped the invisibility cloak over himself and strode down the hall. He a small idea of where he was going; he had studied building plans for the Malfoy Manor the night before. Hermione followed and spoke in a whisper.

"I overheard a conversation between Lucius and a Ministry official. Apparently the Ministry no longer has the power to stand up to Voldemort. They're negotiating with him."

"_What_?"

"You heard me. For some reason, Voldemort has just become much more powerful. It must mean that Draco's given him the sword. Anyhow, I think Voldemort is here, in the Manor."

"You can't be serious."

They turned a corner and came suddenly upon a group of three men, talking softly in the corridor. Two of the men looked up briefly at the solitary maid walking past, and the other didn't even bother. Once they had passed those three, Hermione resumed her speech in an even softer whisper.

"I think the whole Pureblood court is shacked up here. All of the Death Eaters, all of their wives and children, and Voldemort as well. It's become a new base of operation for the war."

Harry looked up at the ceiling. "Of _course_ it has. That's just our luck. We've broken into the most heavily guarded mansion in the world only to find that a mass murderer who has taken a special liking to me and all of his sadistic cronies are waiting in ambush, and you've simultaneously discovered that our own government is now negotiating with the enemy in order to cover their own arses. Absolutely _brilliant_."

"Well, at least you seem to have an accurate understanding of the situation. Now where are the dungeons?"

"They're very close," Harry answered, glancing at her distractedly. Then he stopped dead in his tracks. "Hermione . . . Hermione, no! Your hair!"

The maid's flaxen blonde hair was beginning to turn brown and frizzy. She reached up and discovered this momentarily. She gasped. "We have to get out of here. Fast."

Harry increased his pace and immediately discovered the stairway that had been outlined on the map. "It's here, Hermione. The entry to the dungeons is . . .!"

"Stop right there!" came a commanding voice from behind them.

Hermione turned to see Frederick Goyle coming toward them at an alarming clip, wand pointed directly at Hermione. "What exactly do you think you are doing?"

Hermione made a desperate attempt to act normally. "I was ordered by Master Malfoy to oversee the cleaning of the dungeons, sir."

But it was too late. She was changing form right in front of him, slowly but surely.

"You're not the maid. Who are you? How did you get in here?! Security!" Goyle bellowed, deafening to their hypersensitive ears. "I said _security_!"

"_Impedimentia_!" Harry roared, and Goyle did not see the curse coming, because Harry was still invisible. The bulky man froze on the spot. "Run!" Harry cried then, and took off down the hallway with Hermione in tow.

It was already too late, though. The alarm had been raised and the mansion was heavily populated with people more than willing to raise the alarm and catch Harry. Hermione knew right then that they were doomed. _Maybe not both of us. Maybe only one. _

Like water from a dam, men burst forth, out of doors and into the corridors, from any and all sides. Though Harry and Hermione hurled jinxes in all directions, there were too many to stop. The invisibility cloak slipped from Harry's shoulders, and a collective shiver ran through the group of Purebloods surrounding them. _That's Harry Potter, here in this mansion, _she could practically feel them thinking.

The two Gryffindors pushed their way desperately, haphazardly through the corridor of momentarily shocked onlookers, and at last came to a stretch of hallway where they were able to run. But by this time the real security had arrived- a group of black cloaked Death Eaters just ahead of them, waiting in ambush.

Hermione did it purposely, then. She fell back, lost her grip on Harry's wrist, allowed the rough hands of men to pull her back toward them.

"Harry!" Hermione screamed, as the guards pulled her away from his retreating form. Harry turned around, the look on his face a portrait of anguish. He could either leap back into the fray (twenty guards and Death Eaters had accumulated between him and Hermione) or run away to save his own life.

Harry would have done it. He would have thrown himself back into the fray in order to save the only best friend he had left, heedless of his own self-worth or duty.

He was impulsive. Hermione, on the other hand, was not. She understood the situation immediately (she had engineered it, after all), and cried, "Get out of here, Harry! Run!"

He was worth so much more than her. If they caught Harry, the war was over. She told him this with one piercing, communicative look; she conveyed all of her emotion with one expression and he read it perfectly, a talent that only best friends possessed.

And Harry knew she was right. He knew it. He had a duty, and duty had always been more important than emotional attachment. That was why he had lost Sirius.

He ran.

Her last link to safety disappeared abruptly, and she stood alone at the center of twenty Death Eaters and guards. Several of the guards took off after Harry, but five or six remained there. The task of capturing and subduing her had stalled the guards just long enough to give Harry a chance to escape.

Her first instinct was to bolt, and she tried to force her way through the group, but someone grabbed her arms, effectively stopping her in her tracks.

"I don't think so," someone growled from behind her. It was Avery Sr., and when she looked at him, Gryffindor though she was, she almost collapsed with fear.

He looked absolutely livid as he gazed at her.

"Do you know who this is?" he addressed the group loudly. "This is _Hermione Granger._"

She winced. He spat her name as if it were poison, and some of the men around her shifted to get a better look.

"She is the _filthy Mudblood _that has ruined our plans more times than I can count," Avery Sr. continued. His son had come to stand next to him, and her former classmate smirked at her darkly as his father continued. "You think we've forgotten the Department of Mysteries two years ago? The attack on Hogwarts? You're the brains behind Potter's operations, we hear, and you've been a mite more than troublesome these past few years."

Upon recognizing her, a few of the men has dawned expressions similar to that of Avery's. Their gazes held thirst for plain revenge.

"Do you know how _priceless _this is?" Avery continued quietly, excitedly. He caught a clump of her hair and jerked her head back ruthlessly. She bit her tongue. Didn't scream. Didn't give him the pleasure. "We have you here all by yourself, no Harry Potter to protect you now. You're all alone, little girl. Does that scare you?" Avery taunted, hate flashing dangerously just beneath the surface of his face.

She was _dead. _She was so beyond dead.

A guard came puffing into the hallway, and stopped short. "Potter . . ." the guard gasped, "he's still somewhere in the castle! We need backup!"

"We're on it!" Avery said quickly, turning to Hermione. He thrust her at his son. "Take her to the dungeons and then get back here and help us find Potter. Quick!"

Avery Jr. jerked her along, and she struggled to get away from him. Sad as it was, though, she was defenseless against him without her wand. She silently cursed female anatomy as she tried in vain to overpower him.

"Stop it, Granger," Avery bit out sharply, unconcerned and amused as he dragged her down the corridor. "You're wasting your strength. Believe me, I think you're gonna need that for later."

He winked cheekily at her, and she did not pause to consider the possible implications of those words. She couldn't.

_Please get out of the Manor, Harry, _she thought desperately.

"God, do you know how long us Slytherins have been waiting for this day?" Avery asked her conversationally.

"Ever since a one year-old baby defeated your boss, I would imagine," Hermione replied.

_Damn my tongue. Why can't I just keep my mouth closed?_

She saw his hand coming before it made contact with her face. Couldn't do anything about it. Didn't hurt much anyway, it was more of a warning gesture.

"Now, now, Granger, I thought you were more intelligent than to backtalk me in your position. Specifically, I meant the day we would see Hermione bleeding Granger topple from her golden throne. We've been waiting for a long time to see someone put you in your place, you self-righteous bitch."

Smartly, she kept her mouth shut. Hermione had always been a quick learner.

"Yeah, that's what I thought,"Avery commented on her silence as they stopped in front of a door. "You're not so self-assured without those two neanderthals around to protect you. Poor little Granger, why don't I feel sorry for you?"

Hermione couldn't resist. "You don't feel sorry for me," she cut in helpfully, "because I have literally kicked Slytherin's ass in every subject for the past seven years. You've been bitter and jealous all along, Avery. And now you've . . . what was it? . . . put me in my place. Do you actually have to hit girls to feel like a big man, you nasty brute? Congratulations on proving that you're physically stronger than me. What an _astonishing _accomplishment. If I had a wand, both of us know who the winner would be."

And so with a few choice words, she had managed to piss him off even worse than before. Being relatively unintelligent, he had no comeback. Avery settled instead with shoving her roughly into the cell and slamming the door in her face.

She hit the wall with force and collapsed to the floor. After a few moments, she collected herself enough to look around. A small wash basin, a toilet, and a bed were the sole occupants of the cell.

She was terrified. All of her bravery had been a facade. She was absolutely, heart-poundingly terrified. Hell, she wanted to curl into a ball and scream for Harry or Ron or . . .

Or Draco?

Something halfway between a dry sob and a laugh escaped her lips. He was somewhere in the Manor as well. Ironically, this was _his _house. But he would be of no help to her whatsoever. She didn't want his help or need it, that much was certain, and he was in no position to offer it. Draco had given the sword to Voldemort, hence proven his loyalty to the dark side. He didn't want to help her and she _hated _him.

In any case, Hermione was terrified. She didn't know what they would do to her when they were finished looking for Harry, and she was sure she didn't _want_ to know.

But Gryffindors didn't have breakdowns. She would collect herself, think the situation through, and find a way to escape.

* * *

Harry landed with a crash on the floor of the Gryffindor common room. He had flooed desperately to Hogwarts from the Manor.

_Hermione._

He screamed in anger, cursing himself profusely for his actions.

Why had he listened to her? Why had he left her there, surrounded by Death Eaters? What in the world had he been thinking?

_Duty?_

Duty was a word, a concept, a flat, unfeeling entity. Hermione, on the other hand, was a person, one of the few he loved. Why had he let her convince him to leave her there?

Coming to a precarious decision, he staggered back up to get the floo powder. He was going back. He didn't care if he got captured. Harry couldn't leave her there alone.

A hand grasped his shoulder firmly.

Dumbledore.

How had he gotten there?

"Let go," Harry growled fiercely.

"Harry, what happened?"

"I don't have time for this," Harry told Dumbledore. "Look, it's Hermione, she's captured in the Malfoy Manor and, Professor, I have to go back _right now! _I've made a huge mistake . . . they're going to kill her!"

"Harry, you are hysterical," Dumbledore informed him calmly, crushing the boy's shoulder to stop him from leaping for the floo powder. "They are not going to kill her. Don't you see? She is far too good of a hostage."

"So what if they can't kill her?" Harry cried brazenly. Obviously Dumbledore didn't understand at all. "That won't stop them from torturing her! You don't care about that, just like you didn't care about Ron being kidnaped . . . I know this is all a big political game to you, Professor, but they're my family, don't you get that? It's my fault they're in danger and I can't just sit here and do nothing. So let go of me _right now _so I can go back and fix what I did!"

"I cannot let go," Dumbledore informed him sadly. "You are a hazard to your own health. I assure you, Harry, I do care for Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger, and I can inform you that neither of them are in any immediate danger. Do you think I would prevent you from going if I thought otherwise? My students . . . your friends have always been my top priority."

"You don't get it!" Harry roared hotly. "I don't need some condescending reassurance ploy from you! I'm not eleven any more, Professor, and you can't fool me with some false sense of comfort."

"Harry," Dumbledore said sharply. "The world is falling down around our ears. Hogwarts is the only safe place left. Muggles are being mass exterminated outside these walls. Muggle-borns are being tortured, raped, enslaved. Voldemort is taking over and as much as I wish I could tell you otherwise, there _is _no false comfort to be had. Wake up, Harry. For Merlin's sake, wake up. Hogwarts is no longer a school, it's a safehouse. Things are worse outside than you can possibly imagine and we need you to stop Voldemort _now._ I'm going to be very frank with you. We cannot and will not let your personal relationships get in the way of defeating a crazed megalomaniac. _You have a job to do. _Forget Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley, because if you do not succeed in defeating Voldemort, they will both die beyond a shadow of a doubt."

Harry was somewhat shocked out of his hysterics. Dumbledore, usually the comforting voice of reason, was being blunt and truthful with him for the first time ever. The situation was serious.

Harry slumped. "I'm so worried about them. So worried, Professor."

"Do not be. You of all people should know that Miss Granger is an excellent problem solver and an outstanding politician. Mr. Weasley is also determined and brave enough to pull through. I assure you that they will fare just fine."

Harry nodded, although he didn't fully believe Dumbledore.

It was the hardest thing he would ever have to do, but Harry would leave his best friends in a lion's den in order to save the world.

Because that was what heroes did.

* * *

Hermione hadn't been on the verge of tears when her cell door clanged open. Honestly, she hadn't been about to cry.

But it was a good thing she had been sitting down when the door opened. She likely would have collapsed if she had been standing.

Draco.

Immaculate, calm, icy, standing before her like some ironic angel, smirking down at her scrunched form.

She looked horrible, in all honesty. Tangled hair, bruised face, torn clothing. Nothing like the spotless Draco.

"Well, look who we have here," Draco drawled, every bit the owner of the austere mansion.

"Malfoy," Hermione choked. "Come to taunt me and revel in your own victory? Congratulations on your _promotion. _I daresay giving the sword to Voldemort upped your Pure Evil status one or two notches."

He raised an eyebrow but remained silent.

"Your house is amazing," she sneered sarcastically, "I love what your mum's done with the place. Those metal shackles over there are the perfect compliment to the overall color scheme of this room."

"Unbelievable," Draco breathed. "You never know when to shut up, do you, Granger?"

"I can say whatever I want to you now that we're enemies again," Hermione clarified.

An odd expression came over Draco's face. "You're not even my enemy anymore," he sneered softly. "You're just a slave."

When Malfoy wanted to be cruel, he could be cruel. The most terrible thing about his comment was that it was true and they both knew it.

Draco didn't miss the sobering realization flash through her eyes. Hermione was transparent to him. Her manner changed instantly, and he realized he had obviously cut right to the bone. She averted her eyes.

"Then say whatever the hell you came to say and get out of here," she answered softly.

Hermione could deal easily with Avery's taunting, but she didn't want to hear any more from Draco Malfoy, who had held her while she cried herself to sleep and kissed her softly and told her that he loved her, he would protect her, he loved her, he wouldn't drop her, he loved her.

Hearing him say that she was just a slave_ hurt_.

_Pull yourself together, _she chastised. _You promised never to be weak in front of him again. Ever. _

"Don't be getting any ideas that I'm here to help you escape or bargain for your release," Draco assured her, leaning casually against the wall. "I was dead serious when I said you were on your own."

"Are you here to enjoy my slow and tortuous death at the hands of your buddies, then?"

"When they torture you, and they _will _torture you, I'm not going to care. Here's some news for you, Granger, in case you didn't hear it the first time around. _You're not my problem anymore._"

His eyes bored into hers. Ruthless, passionless, no trace of empathy or emotion.

Idly, she wondered how she had ever found the illusion of love in this frigid human being.

"What do you want?" she bit out sharply.

"Information," Draco answered simply. "Information for bargaining with Voldemort and the others."

Hermione laughed. "What sort of information?"

"Well . . . everything you know," Draco answered bluntly. "Where the Order Headquarters are located, how to get in, where Remus Lupin has gone, and what Potter's next move is. Start talking, Granger."

She looked at him as if he were three. "And you're somehow harboring the deranged illusion that I'm going to . . . what? Just gush to you like some heedless first year?"

"Come now," Draco replied sweetly. "Do I really have to spell this out? Either you give _me _the information now, or the Death Eaters come and torture it out of you later. Believe me, it's not gonna be pretty if it comes to that."

"You're an idiot," Hermione answered promptly. "Those Death Eaters will put me through hell whether I give you the information now or not. I'm not that _thick, _Malfoy. Stop trying to use me as a bargaining chip and get out of here. Leave the dirty work to the real Death Eaters."

Something flashed behind his eyes. He laughed softly, bitterly.

"Oh, this is rich," Draco started insidiously. "Do you actually . . . think that I won't hurt you?"

He took a step toward her and watched the uncertainty flicker into her face. She knew Draco was sadistic, but torturing her? She'd never believed he would go that far.

"More than you've already hurt me? I don't know if it's possible," Hermione answered coolly. She refused to be afraid or weak in front of him, and she stood up abruptly as he stepped closer.

Draco pulled out his wand and pointed it toward her. She stared back at him defiantly, daring him with her eyes to use the worst hex he could think of.

He opened his mouth but nothing came out. Frowned. Tried again.

Nothing. No pain for Hermione.

And that was when he realized that he literally could not bring himself to inflict pain upon her. He'd hurt her so badly already that it was too much to see her standing there, looking cute and defiant. He knew he could break her in five seconds with certain spells, if he wanted.

But that was not what he wanted at all.

He smirked. There were other ways to convince her.

"Granger, I'm being serious here. Give me the information."

He closed the gap between them, so that there was barely an inch of space between his body and hers. They were not touching.

Hermione couldn't think, couldn't breathe. Memories came crashing back. There was nothing she had dreamed of more frequently than of the two of the them, standing exactly as they were.

But not in this situation.

She tried to step back, or around him, but he placed two flat palms of either side of the wall, effectively trapping her in his arms.

"Are you trying to intimidate me or something?" Hermione asked incredulously, narrowing her eyes.

"It's working," Draco said with a slow smile.

They still weren't touching, but she could feel his breath on her neck. It was minty. Damn him, why was it minty? Her heart pounded erratically.

"C'mon, Draco," she said softly. "Stop it."

"Information," Draco said simply, leaning closer. His lips brushed her own. _No no no no! He shouldn't be this close!_ her brain screamed futilely.

"No," she said instead, calmly.

So he kissed her. Crushed her head back against his hand, roughly, heatedly, God she was dying she was dying, she had dreamed about him for so long she was dying, his tongue was warm and forceful, she was dying . . .

Then it was over. He pulled away, and left both of them gasping. She turned her head to the side so he couldn't do it again.

"You _jerk,_" she gasped weakly, pressing herself farther against the wall to get away from him. Had she actually liked (loved, her brain admonished) this creep?

"C'mon, Granger," he said sweetly, hand snaking around her waist. "Information."

Panic started to envelop her. She didn't like what his hands were doing. He was massaging the skin around her waist, slowly, maddeningly.

"Seriously, Draco," she choked out. "Stop it."

He didn't stop. His hands traveled slowly up to her bra clasp, and he undid it in a matter of moments.

"You idiot," she snarled softly. "You have a fiancée."

It was a last ditch attempt to get him to stop. It didn't work.

_Why is it so hot in this dungeon? Aren't these things supposed to be dark and cold? Damn it! _she thought.

His face came closer to hers again, and she looked at him. His eyes burned into hers, fiery and intense. They had always seemed so remote and cold. He kissed her again, more softly this time, but she shook her head and tried to pull away.

_He doesn't mean it. He just wants information. _When they parted, she spoke.

"Draco."

It was wobbly and pathetic. She hated it. She forced her voice to be steady. "C'mon. Please."

That sounded better. More commanding. If only she had known Draco could see right through it.

He shifted, for once thrown off balance. "Look, Granger. It's simple. All you have to do is give me the information and I'll stop. Just start talking."

It was more of a suggestion than a commandAlmost like he didn't want to make her uncomfortable any more.

Almost.

"I can't, don't you get it?" she told him firmly. "I'm not going to tell you anything, no matter what you do to me. Gryffindor, remember?"

Draco paused. "No matter _what _I do to you?"

"Is that a threat?"

"No, it's a warning. Talk."

"I won't."

Hermione wasn't sure how much farther the situation would have escalated, but the door opened.

Draco stepped away from Hermione so fast she wondered it he had been there at all.

Hermione almost fainted. Another person stood there who she had _not_ been expecting to see.

Ginny Weasley.

The redhead looked back and forth between the two of them.

"Well, what a happy little reunion," Ginny commented bleakly.

"Ginny," Hermione exclaimed, half wary and half relieved. "I haven't seen you since . . . that night. Aren't you and Malfoy great buddies now?"

"Just because we work for the same person doesn't mean I like him," Ginny said darkly. "Now scram, Malfoy. I want to talk to Hermione alone."

Draco glanced once at Hermione, and leaned closer.

"Have a nice time with the Death Eaters, Granger. I'll send your body back in little pieces when they're through with you. Merlin knows you deserve it, you self-righteous hag."

"Burn in hell, Malfoy," Hermione replied cuttingly.

He smirked at that, turned around, and exited through the door.

"Well you two are on good terms, I see," Ginny asserted when he was gone.

Hermione sighed. "What do you want, Ginny? Information like Draco?"

"No," Ginny said quickly, paling. "I . . . uh . . . I heard you were here, and . . ."

She looked really nervous, as if she didn't know what to say.

"Look, Hermione," she asserted more clearly. "I , uh . . . I had my own reasons for going over to Voldemort's side, but . . . uh . . . it's not like I'm just going to throw you to the wolves."

"What?" Hermione asked, afraid she wasn't hearing Ginny correctly.

"I want to help you," she said at last. "And I know that might seem really hypocritical but I do. Okay?"

"I . . . won't people get suspicious? And why?" Hermione asked, bewildered.

"Not if they don't know what I'm doing. And, I want to help you because I've known you for seven years and I can't watch you get torn apart."

"But don't you realize that in supporting Voldemort you are condemning all other Muggle-borns to a similar fate? How can you live with yourself?"

Something in Ginny's eyes changed. "Don't lecture me, Hermione. Don't you dare."

They stared one another down for a few moments, until both looked away.

"Sorry," Hermione said, after a moment.

"Anyway," Ginny continued, "I'm going to put up some wards and enchantments outside of your cell so that anyone who means you harm can't enter. Basically, they will forget you're even here."

Hermione was silent for a moment.

"Thanks, Ginny," she ventured. "I can't believe you're doing this. I thought . . ."

"That I was pure evil?" Ginny asked with a smile. "Think again, Hermione."

"I will," Hermione answered, and conjured up her own smile.

Ginny left, and Hermione felt both relieved and terrified at the silence that prevailed.

* * *

Draco strode away from Ginny and Hermione, confusion pounding through his head along with blood.

The only reason he had kissed her was for information.

_Right?_

Truthfully, kissing her had been wonderful. But watching her pull away in fear and panic? That had been awful.

When it came right down to it, he didn't like seeing Hermione weak, uncomfortable, or scared. It reminded him too much of all the ways he had hurt her.

_She hurt me too._

He admitted that to himself, finally. He had never tried to apologize to anyone before, and when he had tried it with her, she had shoved it back in his face.

It was obvious that she hated him profusely and irreversibly.

She had embarrassed him by rejecting his apology and he would never forgive her.

That was all.


	35. Treachery, Troops, and Telltale Tirades

((**A.N. **Yes, I'm actually updating! Here's Chapter 35, for all who are still reading after my sporadic updates. Enjoy!))

**PART IV: EVERYTHING I AM**

* * *

_Hey, I think that someday I might need you somehow_

_I . . . I think I might have loved you_

_These things I said, but you were_

_a million miles away_

_Fuel_

* * *

**Chapter 35**; Treachery, Troops, and Telltale Tirades 

Hermione had been half asleep when she heard the clang of a cell door. Was it a dream?

She opened her eyes groggily to find a guard standing in front of her. He reached down and lifted her firmly by the arm.

"It's time to report to the dining hall, girl. You're slotted to serve dinner to the Purebloods tonight."

"What?" Hermione asked incredulously. "I'm some kind of servant at the Malfoy Manor now?"

"You're a slave. This is how it will be everywhere, for all Mudbloods, once Voldemort takes over."

She felt suddenly dizzy with sickness as she followed the guard down the corridor. How had he gotten in her cell? After a moment of thought, she realized that Ginny had only put wards up against those who meant her harm. The guard, who had technically only told her to report to dinner, meant her no harm at all.

It seemed that Ginny hadn't taken this into account.

The dining hall was spectacular. Not, perhaps, the calabur of the Beauxbatons castle, but spacious and elegant all the same. Hermione was instructed briefly with a few other servants on how and what to serve. Apparently there were no longer enough house elves to serve all the guests by themselves. Many of Voldemort's followers had grouped as of late in the Malfoy Manor, which had resulted in a shortage of staff.

She watched the Pureblood courtiers drift in, grouped in twos and threes, chatting animatedly. The women's robes were outlandishly gorgeous and expensive, and the men were dressed immaculately as well.

_The Pureblood aristocracy is notorious for being prim, classy, and formal, _Draco had told her. _But you get those Death Eaters alone in a room together and it isn't pretty. _

She was jolted(only slightly), as she watched Draco enter with Pansy Parkinson on his arm. He looked gorgeous and she looked radiant. They were obviously the most high-profile couple in the room, and they looked perfect together.

An engagement ring glistened mockingly on Pansy's ring finger, catching the light of the chandeliers beautifully.

Draco did not see Hermione, or if he did, he gave no indication of it. He took a seat on the right side of his father, who sat at the head of the table.

_Draco is important. I've never realized it before, but he is extremely influential, _Hermione mused.

The meal was nothing less than gourmet, and as Hermione placed the food in front of the Purebloods, she was reminded of how little she herself had eaten. She had been served tea and bread at noon; that was all.

Hermione had been dealing with her captivity mainly with the aid of denial. So what if Purebloods thought Muggle-borns were meant to be slaves? She refused to let this deluded group of fanatics get to her head. Their racist beliefs were only a minority compared to the loads of tolerating individuals in the world. Harry would certainly find a way to rescue her soon, and she would step back into reality and out of this nightmare.

"Excuse me," came a prim voice from her right. She turned to see Pansy Parkinson gazing at her with clear superiority and disdain.

"Yes?" Hermione asked tightly.

"You see . . . I've dropped my napkin," Pansy explained slowly. "Pick it up."

Hermione looked down. The napkin was clearly within Pansy's reach. In fact, all the blonde would have had to do was extend her hand a few inches to pick it up. She definitely didn't need Hermione to do it for her. Even worse, Draco turned from another conversation to face them. He met Hermione's gaze for a fraction of a second, and it seemed as if he didn't know her.

She had no other choice. She reached down and picked up the cloth napkin. As she straightened, she felt the shock of something cool and liquid splash onto her, and heard a glass shatter.

Pansy had "knocked" her glass off the table and onto Hermione. The guests at the table instantly fell silent at the shatter of glass and turned toward Pansy and Hermione.

Pansy's cheeks flared red. "You clumsy Mudblood, look what you've done! Gone and spilled my champagne all over yourself! You're not even fit to serve me food. What's wrong with you? Don't just stand there, go get me a new glass."

Hermione stood shock still, trying to master the feeling of absolute hate bubbling within her. The other Purebloods, always eager for some quality Mudblood bashing, began adding in their hoots and jeers and nasty comments.

Their hatred wrapped itself around her like a cold viper, completely unprecedented and unprovoked.

She about-faced sharply, feeling suffocated, trying very hard to conceal her distress. Hermione usually didn't let things like this get to her, but when thirty people in a room all united against you, it was hard not to believe what they said.

She chanced a glance at Draco, who gazed determinedly at his napkin, cheeks flushed ever so slightly. Was he angry? Embarrassed? Amused?

_You will not cry, _she told herself as she refilled the champagne glass in the kitchen. But her burning eyes betrayed her.

Draco watched Hermione's eyes widen in shock at Pansy's insult. She seemed to freeze on the spot. As everyone around him laughed and added in their own comments, he looked away.

She didn't actually believe them, did she? He had seen the battle taking place in her eyes. She was trying very hard to shake the words off.

Didn't Hermione know she was an amazing person? Bright, pretty, top of her class, brave, multi-talented? What were these people thinking? They were destroying a girl for no reason other than that her blood was different. Why didn't they understand?

He realized belatedly that he'd done exactly the same thing a million times.

Pansy smiled at him. "Someone had to take that girl down a notch or two. She's gotten nothing but star treatment at Hogwarts-- the filthy Mudblood didn't deserve a bit of it."

Draco mustered a nod of assent, but couldn't even bring himself to look at Pansy.

This was the girl that was going to be his wife?

After dinner, the men retired to the drawing room and the women headed upstairs or home.

Hermione, who had assumed she would be finished after dinner, was greatly disappointed when the kitchen task master told her that she would serve the men liquor and coffee in the drawing room.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she entered the room. The men sat in a loose circle of armchairs, and Draco and Lucius seemed to be dominating the conversation. Did the boy ever cease to amaze her?

After serving a few drinks (what was she, a barmaid?), she found herself standing next to Draco.

"Anything to drink?" Hermione asked, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice lest anyone overhear. "_Sir?_"

She couldn't help sneering the last part mockingly.

His lips curved up ever so slightly; he seemed amused that Hermione was serving him.

"Coffee, thanks," he answered simply. She returned with the cup of coffee and set it in front of him rather harder than was necessary.

He sniffed it suspiciously. "Not poisoned, is it?" he asked casually.

"I curse myself for not thinking of that."

Draco shook his head and dismissed her with an imperious wave of his hand.

_Boy,__ is he asking for it, _she thought heatedly, as she walked away.

Suddenly she became uncomfortably aware of someone's gaze on her. She turned to see Macnair staring at her unabashedly. He beckoned her over, and she came forward reluctantly.

His sneering gaze sent a shiver down her spine.

"Hermione Granger, isn't it?" he asked. "Potter's little girlfriend, if I'm not mistaken. Not so little any more, are you? You're very pretty for a Mudblood."

Hermione didn't like the way he was looking at her. Swiftly, she turned her back on him, and gasped as a hand clamped onto her wrist. Macnair jerked her back around and leered.

"You can't walk away from me," he whispered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Hermione swallowed convulsively as he brought his face close to hers and gazed intently into her eyes. His breath was rank with liquor.

"Sit on my lap, girl," he ordered sweetly, appearing indulgent. He jerked her closer to him and hit her almost playfully across the face. It didn't even hurt. "Don't be shy, now," he crooned, flashing a sickening set of yellowed teeth. "C'mon, then."

Without another word he lifted her onto his lap. He arranged their positions carefully, so that she was straddling him, and had to lean into his chest.

Anger and embarrassment bubbled within her. She could tolerate sitting in a cell, she could tolerate arrogant Purebloods, she could even tolerate Pansy and her stupid napkin, but she could not tolerate this– being assaulted and embarrassed in a public area. The men around MacNair, however, didn't seem to think anything of it. Was this some kind of everyday occurrence?

"There now, this isn't so bad, is it?" MacNair asked, brushing his lips against her ear in the process. She shivered and realized that she was just going to start crying and not stop if she didn't get away from him soon.

"Give me a little kiss," the man cajoled softly, and Hermione ducked away from his mouth as it came closer and tried to jerk off of his lap. His eyes flashed, and he pulled her to him more firmly. This time she smacked him across the face as hard as she could.

He looked so angry that he almost pushed her off. Then his sticky mouth assaulted hers, stifling her yell of protest, and like a slow-motion nightmare he shoved his tongue into her mouth before she could clamp her teeth shut. It was gross in every sense of the word, and she tried to pull away in earnest, but one of his greasy hands wound itself through her hair.

He eventually did pull away, and she almost choked with disgust and relief. "Stop it!" she uttered fiercely, pushing away from his chest. He only pulled her back down, looking amused.

"Really, now," he chuckled softly, "you better get used to it, sweetie. It's only a preview of what we'll be doing later tonight."

Hermione convulsed with disgust, but ruthlessly, he pulled her into another kiss.

"Stop it!"

Draco would have recognized that voice anywhere. He glanced around for Hermione, and did a double-take when he realized she was splayed across MacNair's lap. The man kissed her aggressively, and she tried to wrench away. He watched as MacNair's hands found their way under her skirt and traveled slowly up her thighs.

"Get off of me!" Hermione told him fiercely, angrily. Draco could see right through it, though. Hermione always acted like that when she was on the verge of hysterics. She looked helpless to him, like she was fighting tears. She gasped as MacNair's hands did something under her skirt that he couldn't see but could probably guess at.

Something exploded inside Draco's head.

"MacNair."

Hermione would have known that voice anywhere. With a sinking feeling, she wondered if Draco was laughing at her, enjoying watching her torture.

MacNair ceased his attentions and looked up at Draco, whom she couldn't see.

"Bring the girl over here," Draco commanded the older man imperiously. "I want a turn with her."

He had to be kidding.

MacNair looked torn between lust and fear of disobedience. He technically deferred to Draco; the younger man had a much higher position and they were also located in Draco's house. After a moment, obedience won out over lust, and he pushed Hermione off of his lap. She toppled to the ground and landed on her rump, trying desperately to hold herself together.

"Maybe next time, pretty," he told her with a wolfish grin. Hermione scrambled up and turned to find a way (any way) out of the room. She made for the doorway, but was surprised as an arm flung itself in her path.

It was Draco, and he was still sitting casually in the armchair, unruffled. "I don't think so, Granger. Come over here."

She didn't want to. She wanted to run back to Hogwarts and flat out sob. It was pathetic, but it was also a reality. She took a deep breath.

"Draco, I know you're probably enjoying this whole thing a lot," she told him softly. "I mean, you obviously wanted to see me suffer, but do you think you could . . . please . . . give me a break here? Just, um . . . let me go for tonight?"

She gulped to keep the tears out of her voice. She wouldn't cry in front of him. Ever again.

Draco's gaze traveled suspiciously behind her, and then focused back on her face. "Look, Granger, I can't . . ." he trailed off indefinitely and then seemed to gain some resolve. "Straddle me."

"What?" she asked incredulously, hardly believing her ears.

"You heard what I said," Draco replied softly. "Do it. Now."

Force emanated dangerously from under the surface. It had always been that way with Draco. Just under the charm, the wit, and the class lurked this ill-concealed cruelty and malice that threatened to work its way out.

"I hate you," Hermione told him vehemently, but obeyed all the same when she realized she had no choice.

"I know," Draco replied, almost too soft to hear.

Hermione climbed onto his lap, and he pulled her against his chest. She didn't protest, but instead seemed to collapse weakly against him, shaking.

Whatever she said, it was obvious that she felt safer with Draco than with MacNair.

MacNair still eyed her, and Draco had realized that he wasn't going to give up easily. The moment Hermione left the room, MacNair would follow her out and it wouldn't be pretty from there.

So Draco couldn't let her out of his sight until the older man left. He would just stay in the room with Hermione until MacNair gave up and went to bed.

Hermione rested her head over Draco's shoulder, taking in his fresh, boyish smell that was so opposite MacNair's. Inexplicable relief had washed over her at his touch. Something about the way he held her was comforting.

She closed her eyes and could almost imagine that she had wanted him to hold her, that she had asked him, that she was not the slave and he was not the master.

Thirty minutes passed like this, and all she could feel was the rumble of his chest when he spoke, his arms wrapped around her.

Suddenly, his whole body tightened. A male scream sounded from behind her, raw and desperate. She turned to see what was wrong. She was surprised when his hand stopped her, closing around her head and burying it in his chest.

"Don't look," he whispered fervently. "Just . . ." A louder, deeper, more heart-wrenching scream sounded from in front of him. "Just listen to my voice, okay, Granger? Do you understand? Don't listen to anything else. I . . . uh . . . I got a new broomstick on Friday, and Asteroid 2000. It's really fast, fastest broom ever made, cost a fortune . . ." he cast around desperately for something else to say, "Er, I talked to Potter before I left Hogwarts, and he told me to watch out for Ginny. I have been, Granger. I swear, I have. Voldemort and the sword . . . it was all just so confusing. You're really a bitch sometimes, you know that? I basically apologized with everything I had that night and you shoved it back in my face. You know what? That's never happened to me before. It hurt, Granger, more than I think you realize. You're horrible and you deserved what Pansy said to you today. But MacNair . . . do you actually think I enjoyed watching him kiss you like that? I may still hate you, but no one deserves what he did to you. Erm . . . you can stop listening to me now. It's okay."

Hermione never did find out what happened, because she had done as Draco instructed and tuned everything out but his voice. She didn't like half of what he'd said, but it was obviously better than listening to whatever was going on in the background.

At last, the men began heading off to bed one by one. Draco lifted Hermione off of his lap and set her on her feet as he stood up as well. He took her hand and led her briskly out of the drawing room door.

He practically dragged her down the corridor without saying a word.

"Draco . . . where are we going? Where are you taking me? You have _no right _to drag me around like this. Seriously! Let me go or I'll just start screaming and not stop!"

Draco whirled around to face her, eyes glinting dangerously. "First," he started insidiously, "I have _every _right to drag you around. Actually, I can do whatever I bloody like with you. You have about as many rights as a house elf at this point. Second, if you start screaming, who the _hell _do you think will come? You've got no one to protect you here, Granger, except possibly me, and you're being such a prima donna right now that I'm tempted to abandon you right here!"

She drew in a sharp breath, and he realized that she was literally at the end of her rope. She swayed dangerously, but her eyes cleared as she spoke to him.

"Yes, that's a wonderful idea. Just leave me alone. I don't need your help, okay? I don't need anything from you!"

Draco stared at her in absolute disbelief as she tried to dislodge her hand from his to no avail. She was about to collapse from exhaustion, overstimulation, and lack of food. Yet she still acted as if she could handle everything herself.

He took her face in both of his hands. "You're so_ stupid_, Granger, you know that? You're so _stupid! _You haven't had anything to eat all day, and you're freezing cold . . ." he ranted, as he felt her forehead to see if she had a temperature, "you've been insulted and embarrassed all evening, and I can see you're exhausted! You probably can't get any good sleep in that cell anyway. God, what's wrong with you? Can't you see that you _do _need my help? You're so bloody stubborn that it's gonna kill you someday!"

Hermione stared at him when he had finished his tirade, and he brought himself up short. Merlin, what nonsense had he just spoken? He'd sounded like his own mother, fussing over Hermione as if he was worried about her.

"Draco," she said, jerking away. "I can take care of myself, okay? Just stop it. I don't want anything to do with you, ever again. Now if you'll excuse me . . ."

She turned around and fled down the hall, or at least tried to. On the third step she stumbled dangerously and righted herself again.

She was weaker than he had expected. Could she not walk?

He approached her cautiously. "Shit, Granger . . . are you okay? I don't think you're going to be able to make it back to that cell on your own."

And, ignoring her feeble protests ("Stop it! I'm fine! Go away!"), he scooped her up into his arms. She promptly passed out.

"You're absolutely thick, you know that?" he informed her unresponsive body as he walked. "You're a bloody moron, Granger. Flouncing into this stupid manor to rescue that dumb-ass Weasley. How idiotic can you be? And where the hell is Potter, anyway? Why hasn't he shown up and rescued you yet? I thought that was his kind of thing. What sort of friend is he, anyway? Here you are, stuck in some lunatic's castle with a bunch of ravenous Death Eaters, and he doesn't even lift a finger to help you. You know what, Granger? I am now royally pissed at Potter. What a bloke."

If he had paused to consider the fact that he was technically talking to himself, he probably would have stopped. But as it were, he kept on talking all the way until they reached her cell.

"What is that self-obsessed moron thinking? Now I have to take care of you, carry you around when you go all fainty, rescue you from the bad guys . . . that is _so _Potter's job! Potter, that half-wit, he's been slacking off. Damn him! Damn you too, Granger. If Pansy saw me right now she'd kill me, and frankly, I don't want to die until . . ."


	36. Saving Someday

_((A.N. Okay, so uhm it's been a really long time. But lately I've gotten a lot of amazing feedback on this story from people who say that despite the fact that it's been, like, a year, they still want me to continue the story. I'm really, really grateful to everyone who's read this and is still reading, because I am, um, horrible, about updating it. I've currently started work on it again and I plan to finish it by the end of September. Enjoy!))_

_**PART IV: EVERYTHING I AM**_

**_ooo_**

_If it makes you less sad, I will die by your hand_

_Hope you find out what you are, already know what I am..._

_And if it makes you less sad, we'll start talking again_

_You can tell me how vile I already know that I am..._

_If it makes you less, I'll take your pictures all down_

_Every picture you paint, I will paint myself out_

_Glad that you can forgive, only hoping as time goes_

_you can forget. _

–_Brand New_

_**ooo**_

**Chapter 36: **Saving Someday

Hermione woke up in the bed of her cell, tucked into her chin with a scratchy blanket. She didn't remember how she'd gotten there.

She recalled walking down the hall, trying to get away from Draco. She remembered stumbling, remembered Draco leaning over her, slight concern evident just behind that passionless look in his eyes.

Then blackness.

How had she gotten back to her cell? Someone must have come along and taken her back . . .

The door clanged open and Hermione jumped slightly despite herself.

Blaise Zabini peeked his head inside, and smiled when he saw her. It was a sharp, cruel smile; the kind of expression that overtook Draco's face right before he said something particularly cruel.

"Granger," he said with a curt nod, stepping into the cell and closing the door.

"Zabini," she answered coolly, raising an eyebrow and sitting up on the edge of her tiny bed. "I can't really think of someone I hate more than you at the moment. Voldemort, MacNair, and Malfoy are right up there, of course, but right now you pretty much top the list."

"Oh?" Zabini asked lightly. "It's an honor, I'll assure you, Granger, but that's a pretty bold thing to be saying in your position."

"That sounds almost like a threat," she observed with a light laugh. _What is wrong with me? I'm not afraid of him at all, _Hermione thought calmly. In fact, she was spoiling for a fight.

"I'll bet you're sore that I masqueraded as your best mate for two months without either you or that bastard Potter lifting an eyebrow. Weasley's in great condition, by the way . . . we've been keeping him in the dungeons for the past two months. He's so weak that he can barely walk . . ."

"Shut up," Hermione bit out sharply. Her chest tightened painfully, and she wasn't sure she could take much more. Blaise continued, however,

"I've heard they haven't fed him nearly anything, just scraps from their own meals. He won't even scream anymore when the Cruciatus is–"

"None of what you're saying is true," Hermione informed him rationally. "You're just trying to upset me."

"In denial, are you?" Blaise crowed. "And to top it all off, I'm engaged to that moron's little sister."

"What?"

"Ginevra Weasley," he responded promptly. "She's agreed to marry me. Why shouldn't I have proposed to her? She's ambitious, beautiful, intelligent . . . her family's a bunch of riffraff, but they'll be dead once this war wraps up . . ."

"Do you think she'd agree to that?" Hermione choked out. "Killing her entire family?"

"It seems you're a bit behind the times, love. _She already has_._"_

He took a moment to revel in Hermione's shocked look.

"She was smart, really. She knows the only way to get out of being killed with them is to marry me. Don't you get it? She jumped onboard just before the ship took off, and it was the best decision she's ever made. In marrying me, she saves herself."

Hermione quickly masked her upset, trying to tell herself it wasn't true. "What are you here for?"

"Touchy, touchy," Blaise sneered. "What, I can't come and visit the resident Gryffindor golden girl now and then? I merely wanted to see how you liked your new position."

He smiled, dark hair and dark eyes beady in the light.

Hermione remained stonily silent.

"No answer?" he asked coyly.

"How about I give you an answer when I get out of here and you're in Azkaban," Hermione dead-panned emotionlessly.

"Azkaban doesn't exist anymore, Granger," Blaise informed her patiently. "You know, I honestly don't think you understand the implications of this war. Shall I give you a little briefing?"

Anger and something else bubbled up within Hermione. Panic? The edges of her self-control began to fray.

"Ever since Draco gave Voldemort the sword, there has been chaos in the streets. Muggle London is no more, Granger. Blasted to smithereens by Voldemort's power. The only places left to be conquered are Hogwarts, Durmstrang, and Beauxbatons . . . but they're too weak by themselves to hold out for much longer. Mudbloods everywhere are being taken as slaves. Insurgents are killed on the spot. Muggles are dying by the thousands. Where are your parents, Granger? Huh? Do you think Voldemort killed them outright or did he send Death Eaters to torture them slowly merely because they were your parents?"

Something hot was happening to Hermione's stomach. It was the sharp ring of truth in Blaise's voice that did it. The Slytherin wasn't lying. Then the realization hit her like a thousand tons of bricks. Harry wasn't going to rescue her. He had a full fledged war on his hands. It was selfish to think otherwise. She would be stuck here either until Voldemort was defeated or forever. The second thought unbalanced her.

"Hermione Granger . . ." he announced in mocking reverence. "You were once the bravest, brightest, most outstanding student in the school. You were going places. You could have been famous, even. Now look where you are. Rotting in a cell no bigger than your closet. This is what you deserve, and this is where you'll stay. Want to know the reason? Because you're a Mudblood."

"You're blind," she said sadly, shaking her head.

"Then we're all blind," Blaise answered reasonably.

"How many people?" Hermione asked him softly. "How many lives will it take? It's human nature, I suppose, to divide ourselves into groups like this. Black and white, male and female, rich and poor, Mudblood and Pureblood, anything, just God forbid we're all the same. How many people, Zabini? Give me a number."

"But you've hit the nail on the head, Granger," Zabini said with a small smile. "Prejudice. It's human nature. It's never going to go away. All that matters now is whether we come out on the top or the bottom."

"You're unbelievably think-headed," she said dangerously, anger and frustration threatening to bring her to tears.

"Denial," Blaise replied simply. "You're in denial. I'm _sorry_ you're a slave forever. I'm sorry you won't live to see fifty with the way they'll treat you here. I'm sorry that any Pureblood male could waltz in here and have his way with you. And you know what the worst part is? I'm _not _sorry. About any of it. All you're ever going to be is McNair's little concubine, and I'm not sorry about that either. You sort of deserve it, Granger."

She didn't know where the tears came from. Anger and disgust and frustration poured down her cheeks in the form of heat.

"What's wrong with you?" Hermione sobbed. "What is wrong with you?"

"It's you that's got something wrong, Granger," he said, leaning closer. "You're crazy. Everyone knows that Mudbloods are scum. You're the only one," he whispered. "The only one."

And her world crumbled.

Her parents might be dead, or worse. Harry wasn't going to save her. London was in ruins. Despair clutched at her and tore her apart before she realized that Blaise meant to do exactly this; she had fallen soundlessly into his trap.

Next thing she knew the door clanged and someone yelled and words fell like pockmarks on the stone walls.

" . . . Hey! Malfoy, I was just talking, I didn't . . ."

"Get out of here, Blaise."

Draco shut the door and suddenly the two of them were alone.

The two of them were alone and Hermione couldn't stop crying. Her mind flashed to that night on the tower. That was the last time she'd cried in front of him. _I won't be weak, _she had promised. _Not in front of Draco. Not ever again. _

He was calm and composed in the dim light, and crossed the room to stand in front of her.

"What did he do?"

No answer. Just tears, thoughts of a life wasted in slavery. Why couldn't she stop?

"Are you hurt?"

No concern in his voice. Detachment.

"God, you're the last person I need right now," she growled at last, through her tears. "Just get out of here, Draco. I'm fine. I'm okay."

"Um . . . you're not," he pointed out softly.

"You're so unbelievably arrogant. Now you know my feelings better than me as well? That's rich. Get out of here, Draco. Get out!"

"Wow. You're a bitch," Draco intoned severely. "You always have been."

Hermione stood up in exasperation and shoved him toward the doorway. "Get _out!_ Do you want to fight with me? Do you seriously want to argue with me right now?"

"Yes!" Draco answered. "Yeah, I do. I'm tired of your aversion to talking to me, Granger."

"I just . . . just got done with that asshole out there and now I have to deal with you, too?"

"Tough luck, suck it up," he drawled wearily. "I have no pity for you right now. You're acting incredibly immature."

Hermione's mouth moved soundlessly.

"Now why don't we start with the fact," Draco continued calmly, "that I've apologized to you– profusely– for that night! What the hell else do you expect me to do? I can't take it back, Granger, okay? I can't!"

"I want you to get out of my life," Hermione answered ruthlessly. "Forever."

Draco laughed. "No you don't! I know that and you know that, Granger. You're so fucking transparent sometimes."

"Well you're not exactly the perfect guy, if you know what I mean," Hermione sneered viciously. "Why would I want a boyfriend who smacks me around and deliberately hurts me and never lifts a finger to protect me?"

"It's not as if you're the perfect girl, either," Draco responded hotly. "You're a pain in the ass, Granger! You're so goddamn anal sometimes that it kills me!"

"Why would I want to be with a compulsive liar?" she retorted. She stuck her hand out and imitated him scornfully. "Trust me. I won't drop you. I'll be there when you need me . . . I'll keep you safe."

Draco did not mention the fact that he'd come to her rescue numerous times, even if she didn't realize it.

"Oh yeah, Granger?" Draco responded with a mirthless laugh. "Well where the hell were you when I needed you?"

Hermione responded by whirling around to face the wall and muffling a sob. He took hold of her wrist and turned her back around to face him.

"I don't think you get it," he said dangerously. "You've sobbed your eyes out a million times, I've comforted you a million times, I've apologized to you a million times. You never _once _took into account how badly you hurt me, you never once apologized for how you treated me. I'm not being unreasonable on this one, Granger. It's you. You don't think I have feelings? That night when I tried to apologize to you, that was one of the worst nights of my life. It _killed _me to hear you say you'd never cared about me. It _killed _me to realize you hadn't meant that kiss. Okay? You're not the only one that got hurt."

"You deserved it!" she exclaimed hotly, voice rising.

"Maybe I did, but that didn't make it any easier to take!"

"Well you should have thought about that before you dumped me, Draco! You're an imbecile!"

"I did what I did for a calculated reason. You did it just to be cruel. Stop twisting my words around, Granger!"

"WILL YOU STOP," Hermione screamed suddenly, "CALLING ME GRANGER!"

She stood there, teeth chattering, tears streaming down her face, and Draco stared at her, mouth wide open. He'd never seen her more livid.

He realized they had been yelling at the top of their lungs for the past few minutes, and backed away from her, all the way to the wall. He leaned his head on his arm, raking a hand through his hair.

For weeks, she'd been calling him Draco. And yet he still called her by her surname, in denial about how close they really were.

"Look. Hermione," he said heavily, and the word felt odd in his mouth. He turned to face her, arms crossed. When he spoke, it was soft. "I'm gonna stop this right now. You and me, we're both just too stubborn for our own good. I tried to hurt you, you tried to hurt me, I tried to hurt you worse, and so on. Can't you see how screwed up this is? We just keep trying to hurt one another worse and worse and someday . . . someday it's gonna get one of us killed, or hurt permanently. I don't want to cause you any more pain. That was never my intention. So I'm just going to stop. Okay . . . Hermione? I'm sorry for everything. I never meant for it to go this far."

She could only stare at him, shell shocked. Had he actually just been mature? Taken a step forward instead of a step back? Was that even possible?

She took a deep breath. When she spoke, her voice was raw from screaming. "I'm, uh . . . I'm sorry too, Draco. I've been overreacting."

The tension between them subsided slightly.

"So what now?" Hermione asked, sniffing away the last of her tears. "You go get married, own the manor, let me go, and pretend I never existed?"

"That's one option," Draco intoned. "That's the morally correct option. But I won't try to hide it. I can't . . . imagine living without you, I've told you that before. So the second option is that I could keep you here with me, forever. I own everything in this mansion, right? That includes you. Then I would have everything I wanted . . . a wife, a pureblood heir, the mansion, and you."

He looked at her coolly, and she simply looked back at him, too tired to conjure up shock or anger.

"But, see . . ." he continued, "the problem is, neither of those options will make you happy. So obviously neither of those options will work. You don't deserve all of this, Hermione. That's one thing I know. You don't deserve to be a housekeeper in my mansion forever. I couldn't stand it."

Her mind flashed back to a few days before, in the cell. _You're not even my enemy anymore, _he'd said. _You're just a slave._

"So what are you going to do?" she asked him.

He raked a hand through his hair. "Look, Hermione . . . I'm really fucked up, okay? I think you should already know that," he commented with a derisive laugh. "I have no idea what I want. But I do know that when I don't see you, I go crazy. I don't even know what it is about you, but it's something I need. And you're right, I'm not the perfect guy . . . not even close. But there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. Maybe that could be enough."

She looked at him for a long time, and he tried not to hold his breath. Finally, she spoke. "Maybe, maybe not. Either way, it doesn't matter."

His face fell. He knew they'd gone back to square one. She continued speaking.

"It doesn't matter because I can't stay away from you. Haven't you noticed yet?"

His smile, for the first time in weeks, was genuine. "Yeah, I tend to get that a lot. You're in the same boat with every girl I've ever dated. You just can't stay away."

"That's right," she admitted shamelessly, with the tiniest smile.

"Come on. let's get you out of here."

He held out his hand. This time, she took it.

**_ooo_**

An ember crackled out of the hearth, and Ginny Weasley jumped back with a hiss as it seared her arm. She was sitting in the Gryffindor common room by herself, late one night.

She sucked in a breath and examined her wrist. A slight burn had developed, and she winced as she brushed a finger across it.

Suddenly a strong hand came from behind her, grasped her arm in a surprisingly gentle manner. She looked up, wide eyed, to find Harry standing above her.

She tried to jerk her arm away, but he made a slight shushing sound and shook his head. He pulled out his wand and touched it gently to her wrist, muttering a healing spell The pain faded away, and Ginny examined her wrist, fresh and pale. He was a good healer.

"Thanks," she said awkwardly. Harry only nodded, taking a seat next to her.

"I want you to tell me something, Gin," Harry said seriously, leaning forward to gaze into the fire and steepling his fingers. "Why him and not me? Give me one reason."

Ginny sighed and stood up. Made for the girl's dormitory. "Don't ask me that, Harry. I can't give you a straightforward answer."

"Don't go, Ginny."

His voice was so desperate that she stopped. "Is it because you think that when Voldemort wins the war, Blaise will be able to keep you safe? Is it because you have that little faith in me?"

She closed her eyes, counted to three. _Get him away from you. That's all you have to do. _

"I'm sure you know about Draco and Hermione," she intoned evenly. "Well, Harry, it's sort of like that. Blaise . . . he's so different from me that we're never bored. We do fight sometimes, but that's imperative, you know? Our relationship is dynamic. Me and you, we're too much alike. I could see it getting old really quickly."

"So you're saying you don't want to be with me because I'm too boring?" Harry asked her softly.

She hesitated, then nodded.

And suddenly Harry rounded on her, his eyes fiery and the set of his shoulders tense. She had seen him when he was angry, but he had never directed that anger at her.

He pushed her against the wall and stood away, holding her there with almost no effort at all.

"Is this what you want?" he asked in a voice she had never heard him use. Her eyes widened. "Do you want to be pushed against the wall? Do you want to be knocked around and controlled and ignored like the silly little girl he thinks you are? Do you want to be over your head, alone with him in a place where . . ." his voice cracked at this part, "I can't be there to protect you? If you want a dangerous and edgy and uncontrollable relationship, then go ahead, Ginny. Walk away. Because I can't give you what you want. I'm no Draco Malfoy. I'm not going to insult you and belittle you and lie to you like you so obviously wish I would. Walk away. Go to Blaise. Because all I'm going to do is treat you right," his voice was rising steadily, "all I'm going to do is give you everything I have and cherish you forever and wipe away your tears when you cry and hold you close when you're scared, boring stuff like that. So do it! Walk away, and I'll never come after you again."

Ginny gasped as he released her, unaware that she had been holding her breath. Harry had never gotten angry at her . . . in fact, she hadn't even thought him capable. Now, looking back at how many times she'd been rude, cold, and flippant to him, she was surprised this outburst hadn't come sooner. He had smiled and let it go so many times.

_Walk away, and I'll never come after you again. _

_This is what you need, _she told herself. _This is your break._

But what he had said made her weak, made her want to fall into his arms and cry and confess everything.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she said finally. "I'm so sorry."

She pulled him into a hug and he was tense at first, wary. Then his resolve melted and he relaxed, crushing her against him as she buried her face in his chest. She needed him so much. They needed each other, warmth in the frigid war crashing down around them.

They remained like that for only five seconds, but it was the warmest, safest five seconds she had experienced in a long time. For five seconds, nothing could hurt her.

"I'm sorry," she breathed again, pulling away. "I'm so sorry for what I'm about to say."

She looked at him steadily, and saw something in his face shatter, something important. "Don't say it," he begged. "Please don't say it. I won't be able to take it if you do."

She'd never been more sorry in her life. Because she could tell he was serious. She took and breath and said, "The invincible Harry Potter should not take the words of a sixteen year-old girl so seriously. Nothing can break you."

His eyes pierced her like broken glass. "Now it can."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Don't come back here. I'm serious."

She paused, taken aback. "What? Are you telling me to get out of my own common room?"

"You heard what I said," Harry told her softly. "You don't belong here anymore. Hurts to say, but it's true. Get out."

He didn't even raise his voice, but Harry had a command about him that brooked no argument.

Ginny nodded once, and headed up the stairs without a word. She wondered if she'd be able to survive seeing him again. Doubtful, very doubtful.

So she left Hogwarts for good.

**_ooo_**

Twilight, hanging onto the day by a thread.

Harry Potter stood at the window of his dormitory and gazed out at the late autumn evening.

He tilted his head down, and dark hair obscured his face. Green eyes were hollow, empty, might as well have been staring at a blank wall for all the recognition within them.

There was nothing left for him at Hogwarts. Hermione and Ron were gone, captured in his arch nemesis's manor. Ginny had gone over to Voldemort's side, and he had come to the realization that he had no one.

No Sirius, no Hermione, no Ron, no Ginny, no Draco, even Lupin had up and left. He didn't know where the Weasleys were; they had probably gone into hiding. And Dumbledore? Dumbledore was a mentor, a teacher, but never a comrade. Dumbledore was using him, to some extent, just as everyone was trying to use him. He was a tool, forged to save the world.

But what it came down to was that there was no world worth saving. He had sacrificed everything he had in the fight against Voldemort. Now he realized that he had been wrong, off base, deluded.

Because now it didn't matter.

There had always been a burning flame within him; there had always been a drive, a passion, a knowing that he would one day have to kill Lord Voldemort. He would one day have to risk his life to save the world.

But whatever ambition, whatever flame he had once possessed, it had been spent completely.

All his life, he'd been a hero, and now he realized that Draco was right.

_Stop acting like a hero, Potter . . . you're just a person._

He was not inhuman, as they all believed – not perfect, not unflawed. And he needed friends. But he could relate to no one. Everyone put him on a pedestal, untouchable. He was not a comrade or a friend to his classmates. He was a legend. One did not joke with a legend; one did not laugh in the presence of a legend.

His will to fight had gone out of him.

Movement behind him. Harry had his wand out and the intruder cornered so fast that he had only been a blur. He knew how to fight, defend, kill. He had been born for it.

"Harry," the boy spluttered weakly. In the half darkness he recognized Neville Longbottom, pressed back against the wall, eyes wide.

Harry lowered his wand. "Scram, Neville."

"What's wrong with you?" Neville asked fearfully. "You're not acting right."

Harry turned back to the window soundlessly.

"Harry?"

"Go away."

"I heard you locked yourself up in your dormitory . . . wanted to talk to you anyway," Neville said apprehensively. "You seem a little on edge. I know it must be hard, without Ron and . . ."

"Did Dumbledore put you up to this?" Harry asked sharply. "Did he?"

Neville looked surprised. "No!"

Harry sighed. "Look, Neville. I'm done."

"Done with what?"

"With all of this shit. With being a legend, a hero. I can't do it."

"What? What do you mean?" Neville asked, confused.

"I mean let Voldemort win, let the killing stop, let the world burn. I don't care anymore. Half the people in this world deserve what's coming anyway."

Neville looked aghast. "Harry, you don't mean that. You can't."

"I wish I didn't. But you don't get it, Neville. I'm not this _hero, _I'm not what everyone thinks I am. Not a killer like I was born to be."

"But you're Harry Potter!" Neville squeaked indignantly, and Harry rounded on him.

"People use that name like it's going to _banish away _the evil! Harry Potter is not some spell. It's just a name, Neville. Just my name."

"But," Neville protested shakily, "you're people's only hope, you're what they rely on."

"How can I be your hope if I'm hopeless? Neville, look, I'm sorry to be rude, but you've got to leave."

Neville's face changed quickly. He had looked helpless and crestfallen, but now he appeared determined.

"I'm not just some little kid, Harry. I stopped being that squirt years ago, I'm not sure if you noticed. You and me, we're not as different as you think."

A shiver ran through Harry. Neville's words were oddly reminiscent of something Draco had once said.

_You aren't a bigger hero or a better person than anyone else, Potter. The only difference between you and the rest of the population is that you've been given this burden . . . _

A stab of guilt rocketed through him. Draco, who had made him lose considerable faith. Draco, who he had given a chance. Draco, who was ultimately correct.

"You said that half of the people in the world deserve this fate," Neville said stonily, "and that may be true, but what about the other half, Harry? Are you going to ignore them? Abandon them? Do they deserve to die because you've given up?"

He was silent.

"You could save them," Neville whispered. "You could save them and you're not even going to try? You're the only one. You know that."

"I can't do it alone," Harry admitted at last, rawly. "I need Hermione and Ron. I can't do it."

Neville looked remorseful. "We can't get to them. We don't have the means or the time, you know that. But you can do it without them because you have to."

And suddenly Harry realized what had happened. He had always been driven to kill Voldemort; he had always had ambition.

_But Harry? _Hermione had said once. _Harry believes in redemption for the human race. He looks at a bad person and thinks, "You know what? This isn't how people really are. Somewhere there's something good in humans." Redemption for the individual and redemption for the whole. He believes that things can be better. He has to._

Harry had always had faith that humans were good. Then came Draco Malfoy, who had betrayed him, lied to him, broken Hermione's heart, and handed Voldemort the weapon that would bring about his victory.

He had, despite everything, believed in Draco. Believed that Draco could be better.

The Slytherin had shattered his faith in the goodness of humans completely. It was silly, really, that one boy had changed his entire outlook, but Draco had caused him to lose faith in the human race.

And when he had lost faith in the human race, he had ultimately lost faith in himself.

"What if there's no good in humans left to save?" Harry asked softly. "Hell, what if there's nothing good left in me?"

Neville was silent for a moment.

"There is something good left. Always will be some good in humans, always will be some evil in humans, and that's how it's gonna be forever, Harry. But you've got to fight for that good, however little it is, however obscure. For the hope that someday we're all going to be okay. For the hope that someday we're all going to be just a _little bit _more good than we are evil."

"I'll do it," Harry said disgustedly.

"Do what?"

"I'll do what you all want me to do. Kill Voldemort. Not because I want to, not like it was before, but because I have to. Not because I think I can, but because there is no one else. I'll do it. I'll kill him without Ron and Hermione and I'll do it thoroughly and I won't hesitate. And I'll hate every goddamn second of it and the human race doesn't deserve it, but I'll do it. For the chance, like you said. For the someday."

He turned away from the window because the lights below had winked out one by one. It wasn't as if the path ahead of him was any brighter.


End file.
